


Behind the Mask

by exclamation



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Bondage, Collars, Conspiracy, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gags, M/M, Mastermind!Stiles, Sexual Slavery, fake slavery, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 110,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exclamation/pseuds/exclamation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where werewolves are a ruling class, Derek Hale is one of the least regarded of the alphas. If he's to hold his rank and get in a position to do some good, he can't afford to show weakness. Having human body slaves is a mark of status and so there are certain expectations of how he treats his slaves Stiles and Scott. </p><p>When Sheriff Stilinski comes to Derek to beg for his son's freedom, he glimpses a world of deception and secrets where perception is everything. </p><p>Things get even more complicated, when Derek finds himself falling for Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The smallest room in the suite, smaller even than Derek’s closet, was the one given to the two slaves. It was just big enough for the narrow beds and a thin gap between so that they could get in and out. It was better than Stiles could have hoped for though; most alphas wouldn’t think to give their body slaves their own beds. There was no window, of course, so when Stiles woke all he could see were the luminous hands of the clock on the wall. It was early, but not overly so, and they’d have to be up soon anyway for the audiences. 

Stiles reached down into the boxes under his bed, grabbing some clean clothes. He was careful not to nudge Scott’s bed as he edged his way to the door and out into the main suite. He crossed the large living area and into the bathroom, which held a bathtub with aspirations of being a swimming pool and a shower that must have been imported from heaven. Stiles showered thoroughly and then shaved at the sink in its marble counter. He didn’t touch Scott’s aftershave, which Derek had insisted was only for Scott and no one else. He hadn’t explained why but then an alpha werewolf couldn’t really be expected to explain his idiosyncrasies. 

Stiles got quickly dressed. Scott tended to go around shirtless to emphasise his position as a body slave, but Stiles had drawn the line at that. He wasn’t comfortable with flaunting his body in front of complete strangers. So Scott had started a rumour that Derek was frequently punishing Stiles for speaking out of turn and he didn’t want the marks to be visible. No one in the werewolf’s compound had any difficulty believing that, so Stiles got to keep wearing t-shirts. 

When Stiles emerged from the bathroom, the lights were on in the living area and Scott was doing push-ups beside the couch. That might have been part of the reason why Scott was more willing to go shirtless than Stiles. 

Scott did a couple more reps and then jumped to his feet, heading towards the bathroom. 

“Have you ordered breakfast?” Stiles asked. 

“Not yet.” 

So Stiles went to the phone and rang down to the kitchen. They’d eat breakfast in the suite. The living area had a dining table as well as the couch. There was even an expensive coffee machine on the sideboard, so Stiles headed there next, preparing his caffeine fix for the morning. He’d just got his latte to his liking when there came a knock on the door. One of the kitchen staff had brought up breakfast, responding with lightning speed to a call from the alpha’s suite. That was one of the few perks of being the alpha’s slave. If Stiles gave an order from this room, people would follow it because they couldn’t be sure that the order wasn’t really from Derek. 

Stiles help the kitchen girl unload a trolley of food onto the dining table. Derek emerged from his bedroom, no doubt drawn by the smell of bacon, and the girl paused her work long enough to give a deep, formal bow. 

“Thank you,” Derek said gruffly, already helping himself from the dishes. The girl hurried through the rest of her work and let herself out as quickly as possible. No one wanted to spend too long in the same room as an alpha. 

“You’re the only person who could say thanks and make it sound like you’re threatening to eat someone alive,” Stiles said. 

Derek made an annoyed grunting noise and stabbed a piece of sausage with unnecessary force. 

“Wow, someone got up on the wrong side of the wolf den this morning,” Stiles said. 

“I hate audience days,” Derek said. 

The first Saturday of the month was the day when, by law, anyone in the community could come to the werewolf compound and make a petition of the alpha. Derek had to hear them, no matter how ridiculous the petition might be, no matter how many of them might show up. He could throw them all out of the compound, but only after listening to them. Worse, the whole thing tended to be documented by local news crews, so he had to act polite and pay attention to the politics of how his replies might be interpreted. 

Scott emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower and only a pair of tight jeans on for clothing. He joined them at the table and dived into a breakfast of ridiculous size. It was unfair that he could eat like this and still have muscles like that. Derek could get away with it because of his werewolf metabolism but it was unfair that Scott could take five slices of bacon and still have a body he was comfortable showing off. 

“One of you should be with me in the hall,” Derek said. 

“All day?” Scott asked. He sounded horrified at the prospect. Stiles had sat through a couple of meetings with Derek and the idea of spending a whole day listening to petitions filled him with a sense of dread. 

“The purpose of a body slave is to serve at his master’s whims,” Derek said. “If neither of you are there, someone might start asking where you are.” 

They decided it with rock, paper, scissors. When Stiles lost, he suggested they tried again adding a lizard and Spock into the mix. Scott protested on the grounds that that was stupid. Derek broke up the ensuing argument by threatening to get rid of the TV if they carried on. 

“It’s like dealing with children,” Derek muttered, returning his attention to his breakfast. 

“Well hurry up and abolish slavery,” Stiles said, “so you can get rid of us.” 

“Believe me, I fantasise about that day.” 

A little while later, Stiles put on his collar, in preparation for a day on camera. The collar was of silver-coloured metal, narrow and light, attached to a thin chain that was more decoration than practical. The collar had what looked like a keyhole on the front, though it could be opened by a simple clasp. Stiles sometimes thought the collar was the perfect metaphor for his situation. 

Stiles walked with Derek down to the audience chamber, a room designed to emphasise the power of the werewolves. It was all black marble and dark wood, gloomy and oppressive. There was an immense chair raised on a little dais that dominated the room. Everything surrounded that one chair. The press had their little corner behind a velvet rope. The other werewolves in the pack could use smaller chairs that ran along the back wall. The rest of the room was just smooth marble, chilly under Stiles’ bare feet. Visitors that passed through the main doors would stand before the alpha’s chair and be dwarfed by the weight of darkness about them. 

There were a few reporters setting up in their corner or coming in through a side door. They bowed to Derek Hale, apparently oblivious to the human slave who walked behind him. Being a slave was almost as good as being invisible at times. 

Derek sat in his great chair. Stiles sank onto a cushion on the marble floor beside him. Stiles chose a sitting position. He’d tried kneeling the first time he’d joined Derek in a meeting. His legs had gone to sleep within five minutes and he’d spent the entire time feeling incredibly uncomfortable. If the audiences were going to go on for a long time, he wanted to be comfortable enough that he could stay still. A motionless slave was invisible. A wriggling slave was a distraction. 

Stiles got himself seated crossed-legged on the cushion and he draped the end of the silver chain over the arm of Derek’s chair. He would be able to lean against the side of the chair if he wanted to. Derek leaned sideways and spoke in a quiet whisper to him. 

“Don’t fidget this time,” Derek said. “And try not to look too bored.” 

“I’ll try not to start snoring,” Stiles said. 

Derek gave him a look that was part-glare, part-amusement. Stiles got that look a lot. 

The audiences would begin now that the alpha werewolf was present. An administrator, an older man whose name Stiles kept forgetting, opened the main doors to let through the first petitioner. The man bowed and then started to explain his reason for being here. He talked about a scheme to reduce illiteracy. Stiles started off listening with good intentions, but his thoughts quickly drifted as the man droned on about the benefits to his plan and how it would be a wonderful thing long-term for the whole economy of Beacon Hills. It seemed Stiles wasn’t the only one getting bored, because Derek eventually cut the man off. 

“Do you have something to ask of me?” he asked. 

“Your endorsement of the scheme would mean a great deal,” the man said. “We are trying to gain support and funds from local businesses. Having the town’s alpha on our side would be a huge help.” 

“Your cause sounds worthy,” Derek said, “but I make a point not to publicly align myself with any causes. If I were to support yours, then my silence on other causes, though equally worthy, might be interpreted as my slighting them. I cannot support every good cause, so when I make donations, I do so anonymously. That way, others can donate as suits their conscience, without trying to turn charities or noble causes into acts of politics to curry my favour. Thank you for your time.” 

The man gave a bow as he left. Derek beckoned the administrator over to the throne and spoke in a whisper, “See that his organisation receives a small, anonymous donation.” 

Stiles understood. The man would make the connection between Derek’s statement of anonymity and the donation. If he was smart, he could still use it to persuade others to donate, without Derek breaking his policy. 

The next petitioner was a teenaged girl, who came in flanked by her parents. Stiles recognised her at once as a girl from the local high school. She was Erica, the girl who’d always been ill. She didn’t just bow. She dropped to her knees in front of the throne. 

“I want the bite,” she said. 

Derek looked at her for a while, then at her parents. 

“Do your family agree?” he asked. 

“They don’t agree,” she said, after a brief hesitation, “but they accept that this is my choice to make. To ask at least.” 

“Why do you want the bite?” 

“I have seizures. I take medication, but the pills make me ill. I’ve spent my life feeling ill and weak, being the one alone and laughed at. I want to be strong and healthy.” 

Stiles had seen her once, having a fit in the middle of a classroom. It had looked horrific and she’d nearly smashed her skull in against a desk when she fell down. When the seizure had ended, she’d looked ashamed, as though she wanted the ground to swallow her so she could escape the stares. 

“Do you know the risks of the bite?” Derek said. 

“I know that some people die,” Erica said, “but I’m willing to take the risk.” 

“If the bite takes, it would still mean your life will change. You would be part of my pack.” 

“I know.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Sixteen.”

Derek nodded. “By law, I must give you twenty-four hours to reconsider, to prevent impulsive decisions, and there are documents that you must read and sign. Your parents must sign them too, to give their consent. My administrator will see you have the necessary paperwork. If you still desire it, he will set up an appointment for tomorrow.” 

In the corner of the room, cameras were flashing. The reporters were capturing pictures of a potential new werewolf. The administrator led the little group out of the room. 

They had a moment, so Stiles reached out a hand under the throne and touched the back of Derek’s leg. It was a gentle touch, just a little indicator that he had something to say. Derek leaned down to him. 

“I know her,” Stiles whispered, “from school. I don’t think this is an impulsive decision.” 

Derek nodded and then straightened up again. Stiles resettled, shifting slightly on his numbing rear. He expected Derek would accept the request. After all, he had the smallest pack in the country. He just had Isaac and Cora as his betas. If he was ever to have noticeable power among the werewolves, he would need to have more in his pack. 

The next couple of petitioners passed in a haze of boredom. Stiles forgot what they were asking for even while they were still asking it. He fought down a yawn, wondering how many people were still outside, waiting for a chance to speak. At some point, Isaac had come into the room and he was now sitting on one of the chairs, looking as bored as Stiles felt. He was only here as a reminder that there were other werewolves, that Derek’s pack, though small, was not non-existent. 

When the administrator opened the door again, Stiles was suddenly alert, staring across the room in surprise. His dad, dressed in full Sheriff uniform, walked across the marble floor. He crossed to the throne, his eyes constantly flitting towards Stiles, then being dragged back to Derek. He gave the formal bow, every part of his body stiff with anger and fear, though his face was carefully blank. 

Stiles wanted to run across the room and hug him, but he remained frozen beside Derek, aware of the cameras filming every instant. Every part of Stiles’ body was tense with the fight to keep still, to not betray his emotions. 

“What have you come to ask?” Derek said. 

“I have come to ask for my son’s release,” Sheriff Stilinski said. 

“Your son trespassed on my territory, in full knowledge of the law,” Derek said, his voice calm and controlled. “I am within my rights.” 

“He’s still a child in the eyes of the law. He made a childish mistake. I ask you to show mercy.” 

Why did his dad have to pick an audience day? He could have made a private appointment and they could have this discussion away from the flashes of cameras and the video crews that could put this whole conversation on the news before the end of the day. Stiles could guess what was going on in Derek’s head right now. With the world watching, Derek had to appear strong. His position as an alpha was tenuous at best. Many of his rivals would see mercy as weakness. 

“Your son was old enough to be aware of his actions,” Derek said. “In trespassing, he violated the law. Where there is a crime, there must be a punishment.” 

“Then I offer myself in exchange. I am Stiles’ legal guardian,” his dad said. “I bear responsibility for him. Let him go and punish me in his place.” Stiles’ dad dropped to his knees in front of the throne. Stiles bit down a gasp, his conscious self fighting with his instincts. He wanted to run forward, to force his dad to stand and take back what he’d just said, but instead Stiles just sat there. 

Derek’s hand fell onto Stiles’ shoulder. It would look like a gesture of ownership, but Stiles knew what it really was. It was a reminder to be still, to trust him. Stiles’ jaw was aching from clamping down so hard on the desire to speak but he forced himself to stay still, to stay quiet, to stay the perfect image of an obedient slave. 

“You’re not my type,” Derek said. 

Stiles saw his dad’s face pale, his features betraying fury and disgust mingled together. His dad was clearly facing the same battle to maintain control, to not speak out of turn before the alpha. 

“I’m sure I could provide some useful service. You must have some work in your compound that would be suitable. I’m sure I could be more valuable to you than my son.” 

Derek appeared to consider this. 

“Your wife is dead, I believe?” Derek said. “You are Stiles’ only parent.” 

“Yes,” his dad said, after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Then if I were to accept your offer, Stiles would be left without a guardian. That would hardly be a responsible act on my part. What I propose is an exchange of days. You can come here and perform useful work around the compound. For every day you work, you can then take Stiles away from here for a day. You can have time with your son and he can have a vacation. Is this acceptable?” 

Stiles’ dad looked like he wanted to jump up and throttle Derek, but instead he nodded. 

Derek beckoned to Isaac, who’d been watching the exchange with interest. 

“One of my betas will take you to the study and we can iron out the details when today’s audiences are over.” 

The sheriff stood, giving one last look towards Stiles, before he started to follow Isaac out through a side door. Stiles remained a statue beside Derek’s chair, watching his dad leave. Then Derek leaned down to whisper in his ear: “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” 

Stiles got slowly to his feet and gave a formal bow, making sure to do everything properly. Derek handed him the thin chain from his collar and Stiles turned to walk calmly from the room. He tried to portray in his stance that he was a good slave just following his master’s instructions. He followed Isaac and his dad out, calmly closing the door behind him. 

Out in the corridor, with the closed door between him and any cameras, all pretence at calm fell away. He raced the few steps needed and flung his arms around his dad, feeling the strong arms return the hug.


	2. Chapter 2

Isaac cleared his throat. He waited a few seconds and then cleared his throat again. Eventually, he said, “Guys, we’re still a bit public here. Can we get to the study?” 

Stiles had been standing in the corridor hugging his dad for a ridiculous length of time. He let go but his dad kept a hand on his arm, as though afraid of letting him go completely. They walked behind Isaac to the main study. 

This was still one of the formal rooms of the building, used for important meetings and photo opportunities. The furniture was all carved oak, with walls of books, mostly old tomes that looked good in the background of pictures. Most weren’t even in English and the ones that were largely featured ponderous text that could serve as an insomnia cure. There were some useful books on werewolf laws and traditions, but the more interesting ones had mostly migrated up to the suite for Stiles and Scott to read. Most importantly, the study held a couple of comfy armchairs in front of an old-fashioned fireplace. 

Once they were inside, the rest of the compound shut away behind a heavy door, Stiles turned to his dad. 

“Are you out of your mind?” he demanded. “Why did you have to go and do something so stupid?” 

Isaac gave an amused snort, “You’re hardly one to complain about someone doing something stupid.” 

“I’m a leading expert in the field of behaving stupidly,” Stiles said. “I’m the perfect person to judge.” 

Stiles’ dad gave a nervous glance in Isaac’s direction, before saying, “I didn’t want to leave you here.” 

It was clear they weren't going to get an honest conversation while Isaac was standing beside them. 

“Someone should be with Derek,” Stiles told Isaac. “Maybe you should go and find Scott and get him to take my place in the hall?” 

“I can call the suite,” Isaac started towards the phone. 

“He might not be in the suite. It’ll be easier if you go sniff him out.” 

Isaac took the hint that time. He gave Stiles a long look. 

“Fine,” he said, “but you’d better both be here when I get back.” 

Isaac let himself out and closed the door behind him. Stiles’ dad started to speak, but Stiles held up a hand to stop him. 

“I know you’re eavesdropping,” Stiles said. “Stop it.” 

He didn’t know for sure that Isaac was listening, but it couldn’t hurt. If Isaac wasn’t listening, then he’d never know about the accusation. If he was listening, then he’d think Stiles was being particularly perceptive and hopefully feel guilty about the intrusion. 

“Will you get in trouble for speaking like that to a werewolf?” his dad asked. 

"He can't complain without admitting he was listening in,” Stiles said with a shrug. “Now what were you thinking, offering yourself to Derek like that?” 

“I was thinking that I could do something to keep you safe. I heard some terrible stories about what he was doing to you.” 

“You shouldn’t listen to rumours.” 

“I couldn’t just sit at home, knowing you were here, with him.” He spat that last word like a curse. “With all the reporters in the room, he’ll be forced to stick to the agreement. He’ll have to let you out of here, even if it’s just for a few days, and that will be enough.” 

His dad didn’t say anymore, even in this room alone. He was clearly worried about eavesdropping werewolves. Even so, Stiles could follow that line of thought, read his intentions in his face. His dad planned on using the few days they might get to smuggle Stiles away from here. 

"Dad, don't do anything illegal," Stiles said. "It's not worth it." 

“Don’t worry about me,” his dad said. “I’m not going to leave you here.” 

"I'm fine, Dad. I promise. Derek’s all bark and no bite.” 

He saw his dad flinch at that comment and realised that it had been stupidly phrased. Talking about biting in the context of an alpha werewolf could easily be taken literally. As Derek’s slave, Stiles wasn’t sure where the law would sit regarding the need for a parent’s permission. After all, right now, Derek was Stiles’ guardian in the eyes of the law. 

"Relax," Stiles said quickly. “Derek hasn’t bitten me and he’s not going to.” 

“Would you ask him to?” his dad asked. “It would be a way out of being a slave.” 

Stiles couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped his mouth. The sound of it visibly startled his dad. Stiles thought of Isaac and Cora, playing their parts as much as he did, following Derek’s instructions with considerably less complaint. About the only benefit, aside from physical strength, which would be pretty cool, would be a better bedroom. 

“Derek already offered me the bite. I said no.” 

He wasn't sure which part of that statement surprised his dad more: the offer or the refusal. People had been known to beg for the bite, for the inclusion into the elite class of werewolves, with all the power and physical strength the change provided. 

“You turned down an alpha’s offer of the bite?” 

“I don’t intend to be a slave forever,” Stiles said. “Give it a year and Derek will get bored of me or sick of me talking constantly and he’ll let me go. If I accept the bite, I’ll be his beta for the rest of my life. That’s not going to happen.” 

“You really think that he’ll just let you go?” 

“Yes.” 

His dad still looked doubtful, but anything he might have said was stalled by the study door opening once again. Isaac came back in. 

“Scott says you owe him big time,” he told Stiles, before turning to the Sheriff. “He also says hi.” 

“I’ll make it up to him,” Stiles said. 

“Are you two done having secret conversations?” 

“Yes,” Stiles said. 

“Good. How about coffee?” 

Isaac rang down to the kitchens and placed the order, including Stiles’ latte without asking. Stiles caught the look of surprise on his dad’s face as he noticed that. His dad knowing that he wasn’t deprived of caffeine wasn’t much, but it might help with persuading him not to attempt some suicidal rescue mission that would end up with both of them on the wrong side of the alphas. 

A few minutes later, there came a knock on the door. Isaac opened it to the kitchen girl, carrying in a tray with coffee and cookies. It was the same girl who’d brought breakfast this morning. Stiles thanked her as she set the tray down and she gave him a quick smile. Her head was still slightly bowed, but her eyes sparkled at him beneath his lashes. She let herself out and Stiles grabbed his latte and a handful of the cookies. They were ginger ones that were close to divine. 

His dad was slightly hesitant, looking to Isaac as though he expected to be given permission. It was weird, since Isaac had just been another kid in school until a few months ago and his dad was Sheriff of Beacon Hills. The power dynamic was unmistakable. Isaac dropped into one of the armchairs, sprawling into the cushions with an air of utter ease. Stiles’ dad stood by the desk, sipping slowly at his coffee and looking poised for a fight. 

“So,” Isaac said, “how did you survive sixteen years with Stiles without strangling him?” 

"Hey!" Stiles protested. "I could throw coffee at you!” 

“You’re only making my point for me,” Isaac said with a smirk. 

Stiles’ dad clearly didn’t know how to respond to this. There was a long period of silence, punctuated by faltering attempts at conversation, mostly compliments of the cookies, since that was a subject that wouldn’t cause contention. After a while, the study door opened once again and Derek swept in. Stiles’ dad gave a hasty bow. 

“I’m taking a lunch break from the audiences,” Derek said. “We can discuss the terms of our agreement while we eat. Isaac, go to the kitchens and have them send some food up, then you’re free for a time.” 

Isaac bowed his head as he let himself out. Then it was just the three of them. Stiles’ dad looked scared but determined, standing strong before Derek. Derek took one of the armchairs, gesturing for Stiles’ dad to take the other. Stiles perched himself on the corner of the large desk. 

“You have a demanding job,” Derek said. “How much time can you spare before you need to return to it?” 

“I wasn’t sure what the outcome of my coming here would be, so I arranged for my deputies to cover the shifts for the next few days. I should have a week easily.” 

He’d come here not knowing if he’d ever walk out again, not knowing what price Derek might demand from him. Stiles wanted to cross the room and just hug his dad again. There didn’t seem to be words to thank him for what he was willing to offer. 

“A week will work,” said Derek. “What I propose is that you go home after this meeting and pack up whatever you need by way of clothes and toiletries and so on. Then return here early tomorrow morning. We’ll find you a room in the compound and assign you work during the days. In the evenings, you can spend some time with Stiles. When you finish your work on Saturday, you can take Stiles away for seven days, bringing him back here before the end of the day on the following Saturday.” 

"What sort of work would you give me?” 

Derek shrugged, “Whatever needs doing. Helping out in the kitchens or gardens or with the cleaning staff. It would probably be menial work but you’d be free to report to me if you feel you’re being worked too hard or asked to do things that are unreasonable.” 

Derek’s face was poker-calm, but he was planning something, Stiles was sure about it. 

"There's one more thing," Stiles' dad said. "The school year will be restarting soon. Stiles should still be in high school. Scott too. You should let them continue their education.” 

“Should I?” 

“Yes. It wouldn’t reflect well on you if people learn that you’re denying two teenagers their right to a decent schooling, particularly since you’ve just publically refused to support a campaign to improve literacy.” 

Derek leaned forward in his chair, “Are you threatening me?” 

Both appeared outwardly calm, but Stiles could see the tension in his dad’s shoulders. He was scared. Derek, on the other hand, was amused, a tiny twitch of the eyes showing the smile that never reached his lips. 

“I’m simply stating a fact,” Stiles’ dad said. 

“If I agree to this,” Derek said, “what would you offer me?” 

Amusing though this was to watch, Stiles decided he’d had enough of this posturing. He interrupted. 

“Derek was planning on sending us to school with Isaac anyway.” 

Derek turned on him with a look of fury, “I could gag you, you know.” 

“I’m sure I could be just as articulate in sign language,” Stiles said calmly. 

Derek gave an irritated sigh and returned his attention to Stiles’ dad, who looked horrified and terrified that Stiles would contradict his master in this way. 

“You will get your wish,” Derek said. “Stiles and Scott will continue attending the high school. Isaac will also be attending and he will make sure they return here when the school day is over.” 

Assuming Erica went through with the bite, they’d have two watchdogs to see they came back here again. If Stiles’ dad had any plans to rescue him during his periods at school, it wouldn’t go well. 

There came a tap at the door and the kitchen girl wheeled in a trolley covered with platters of sandwiches and nibbles, skewers of chicken and slices of vegetables. She gave the expected bow to Derek and Stiles helped her to unload the trolley’s contents onto the desk. She didn’t meet his eyes as they worked and seemed eager to finish up quickly and make her escape. It was starting to bother Stiles that he didn’t know her name. 

While the two adults continued their conversation, Stiles loaded up a small plate for his dad, making sure to include lots of the sliced vegetables. Stiles handed the plate to his dad, who hesitated. He didn’t start eating until Stiles had made up a second plate and handed it to Derek. Stiles just grabbed a sandwich straight from a platter and sat back down on the edge of the desk. 

Stiles’ dad asked some questions about the details of the next two weeks. When he would be expected to arrive, what would be the arrangements about meals, would Derek be checking up on Stiles during the week of “vacation.” Derek answered succinctly, ironing out the details in between mouthfuls of lunch. In the end, they shook on it. Derek stood, putting his empty plate down on the desk. 

“I must return to the audiences. Stiles, see your father out when you’re finished with lunch.” Derek paused beside Stiles and added in a faint whisper, “Be careful what you tell him.” 

Stiles’ dad waited after Derek had left, no doubt wanting to give the alpha werewolf a chance to get out of earshot. 

“Does he do that a lot?” he asked. “Threaten to gag you and things like that?” 

“He threatens to gag me every other day. He’s never actually done it though.” 

"What has he done?" 

Stiles had heard Derek's warning, but he wasn't about to let his dad worry over nothing. 

“I’m fine. Derek hasn’t hurt me. He’s not going to hurt me. Having slaves is a status thing for werewolves so he shows me and Scott off as a reminder to everyone that he has power. That’s all there is to it.” 

"But what about... your duties?” 

Clearly his dad couldn’t bring himself to ask the question directly, whether through fear or embarrassment. It was obvious from his tone and the look on his face that he was trying to ask whether Stiles was tied to a bed and forced to have sex with his new master. Stiles gave his best effort at a reassuring smile and wondered how to answer the question in a way that would ease his dad’s fears without seriously pissing Derek off. Derek wouldn’t be happy if he were to reveal that he was an alpha’s body slave and still a virgin.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek was mentally drained when the last of the petitioners was finally dealt with. Today hadn’t been as bad as some audience days, with the last meeting wrapping up in the late afternoon, but it had been bad enough, and there were frustrations that needed to be dealt with. Derek sent Scott up to the suite saying that he’d be up soon for dinner, then he went through to the study with his administrative staff to take care of all the actions that had come up during the day. Most of the work was trivial, quickly dealt with, and then Derek headed back up to his suite. 

Scott and Stiles were sprawled side-by-side on the couch. They were watching something on the TV, something with ships against the black of space. 

“We’re watching Firefly,” Stiles said. “Want to join us?” 

“That’s the one with the pointy-eared alien, isn’t it?” Derek asked. 

Stiles turned to him with a look of abject horror on his face, “There are some tragic gaps in your education.” 

“My education was excellent.” And it had been. His mother insisted that potential rulers must know as much as possible so as to make the best decisions. Even though Laura was supposed to be the alpha, Derek and Cora had been through the same education. Their mother’s view of a complete education was clearly different to Stiles’, as it had included a lot of books and considered television to be an indulgence to be enjoyed only occasionally. 

Stiles was out of his seat in an instant. He grabbed hold of Derek by the arms and guided him to the couch, pushing him down into the middle. 

“Scott, call the kitchen and have them send up some popcorn. I’ll find disk one.” 

“Do I have any say in this?” Derek asked, amused at his apparent slaves taking charge so easily. 

“No,” they chorused. 

Stiles went to the TV and spat out a DVD, hunting through a case for another one. Derek wasn’t entirely sure where the DVDs came from, but Stiles and Scott had been building up a small collection. Either they were giving the staff orders in his name or they were bribing Isaac and Cora to go shopping for them. Derek had decided it was better to have deniability and didn’t ask. He just let Stiles put the disk in and use the remote to skip through the menus. 

Soon the three of them were on the couch together, a bowl of popcorn being shared, while they watched. It was enjoyable, though Stiles was somewhat distracting through the experience. He seemed incapable of sitting still. He tended to wriggle at the exciting bits and he must have seen this a hundred times because he started laughing a second before the jokes. It was rather off-putting because the couch wasn’t really designed for three people and his leg kept brushing against Derek’s every time he moved, warm flesh separated by only two thin layers of cloth. 

“If you don’t sit still, I’ll tie you up,” Derek snapped, as Stiles squirmed through a big, dramatic reveal scene. 

“Promises, promises,” Stiles teased, smiling sideways at him, his look almost flirtatious. Half a second later, his face paled, as though he’d only just realised what it was he’d said. He looked almost scared. 

Derek forced his eyes back onto the TV screen, trying to banish the mental image of Stiles tied up on his bed. He wasn’t going to even think about that. He wasn’t that sort of person. He wasn’t one of those werewolves who treated humans like playthings whose only purpose was to serve his whims. That was not going to happen. 

Derek tried to lose himself in the show again, but it was difficult. He was constantly aware of Stiles sitting motionless on one side of him, and Scott, shooting confused and worried looks his way, on the other. It was impossible to forget the truth of their situation. Derek had told them that in this room they were not slaves, but the fact was that they still were in the eyes of the law. If ever Derek changed his mind, there would be nothing Stiles could do to stop it. That imbalance of power loomed at awkward moments to destroy any semblance of friendship they might have. 

There could never be a relationship between equals so anything Derek might try would be taking advantage. 

The instant the episode finished, Derek was out of the couch, saying that he wanted to clean up before dinner. He left the other two to make arrangements for food and he slipped into the bathroom. Under the warm flow from the shower head, he let his thoughts stray to all the things he knew he shouldn’t be thinking of. 

He pictured Stiles, lying bound and waiting on his bed. He pictured Stiles, finally silenced with the threatened gag, or biting down on a pillow to muffle moans of pleasure. He pictured Stiles, kneeling at his feet, the collar around his neck, but with his bright, intelligent eyes sparkling with defiance that made a mockery of the position of submission. 

Derek sent a spurt of semen over the tiles and then he quickly washed it away, scrubbing himself and the shower thoroughly so that Scott wouldn’t be able to smell this on him. If Stiles knew what he’d been thinking, he’d probably be terrified. 

Derek dressed quickly in comfortable clothes and emerged to find Stiles and Scott already tucking into dinner at the table. Derek put on a mask of calm and went to join them. 

***

Stiles was woken by a light tapping on the bedroom door. Stiles groaned and tried to bury himself under the covers. It felt like he’d only fallen asleep five minutes ago. Derek’s voice called through the wood, “Stiles, your dad will be here soon.” 

Stiles groaned again, but climbed from the bed. Scott’s bed was already empty; Stiles hadn’t even heard him leave. Stiles turned on the light and grabbed some clean clothes. Out in the main suite, Derek was waiting for him. He didn’t go into the slaves’ room. He’d wanted to give them some semblance of privacy. 

“You look awful,” Derek said. 

“Thanks,” Stiles muttered, heading past him for the bathroom. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. Are you ill or something?” 

“I just didn’t sleep well.” 

A shower helped him feel somewhat more human. The latte that was sitting beside him breakfast plate helped a little more. There was no sign of Scott, so Derek must have been the one to make his coffee. Stiles was grateful. It had taken him ages to shut his brain off last night. He’d kept thinking about his dad and the plans he might or might not have to free Stiles from his slavery and all the horrendous consequences of such plans. 

Stiles swallowed down his breakfast mechanically. While he ate, Derek told him about three times about the plans he’d made for Stiles’ dad. It took three times for them to sink in. Derek had arranged for a room in the staff quarters; he wrote the number on a piece of paper because he didn’t trust Stiles not to forget it immediately. Stiles’ dad would be working in a different part of the compound each day. Today, he’d report to the kitchens and do whatever work he was assigned. If he had any problems or was asked to do anything unreasonable, Stiles should find out and tell Derek. 

“What are you scheming?” Stiles asked. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

Stiles gave him a look, “I’m half-asleep. I’m not stupid. You’re scheming something.” 

“Alright. I want to know what my staff are really like. Everyone acts perfectly polite and kind around me, because they feel they have to. It doesn’t let me know who they really are. If the compound staff know that I don’t particularly care what happens to your father, they’re more likely to show their true colours. By the end of the week, I’ll know who was fair to him and who tried to exploit him. I’ll know who are the people I actually want working for me.” 

“You want my father to spy on your staff for you?” 

“Basically, yes.” 

"You're a devious bastard." 

“I have to be.” Derek glanced at the clock, “You should get down to the hall to greet him.” 

Stiles swallowed the last few mouthfuls of his breakfast. As he was heading for the door, Derek called to him with one last instruction. 

“Tell your father to join us for dinner in the suite tonight.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

Stiles hurried down to the entrance hall, mulling this over. Sunday evening was pack time. Usually, Cora and Isaac came to the suite and they spent time together as a pack. Stiles was surprised Derek would want to invite a stranger in for that time. He wasn’t sure what it meant, whether it was just Derek trying to be nice or if this was yet another layer to his schemes. 

The entrance hall was built along the same lines as the other public rooms of the compound, designed to impress and intimidate with the wealth and power of the werewolves. The architect had clearly had a thing for marble: marble wolf statues, marble pillars, marble floor. It all seemed to leach the heat out of the air, leaving a room cold and imposing. The big doors were of old wood, heavy and solid. A couple of security guys stood on either side of the doorway. They looked at Stiles suspiciously, as though wondering if he was going to make a break for freedom. Stiles just waited, a bare-footed slave amid the splendour. 

He didn’t have to wait long. A buzzer sounded and one of the security guys checked his screen, then opened the door to admit Stiles’ father. He was dressed casually today, a bag slung over one shoulder. He spotted Stiles waiting and rushed over, wrapping him in another tight hug. 

“Are you alright?” his dad asked. “You look awful.” 

"Why does everyone keep asking that today?” 

“Because you look like death on legs. Did he... do something?” 

“No. I just didn’t sleep well. Come on, I’ll show you your room.” 

The staff quarters were tucked away at the back of the compound, a couple of floors up. The rooms were small and Spartan, but a whole lot nicer than the one Stiles called home. His dad put his clothes into a small cupboard while Stiles explained that he’d be working in the kitchen, and issued the dinner invitation. His dad looked at the pile of clothes, mostly scruffy old items suitable for menial work. 

“I don’t think I brought anything to wear for dining with an alpha,” he said. 

“Everyone will be in jeans,” Stiles said. “It’s not a big deal.” 

He wasn’t sure that was entirely true. Stiles had only been here a few weeks, but he’d never even heard of Derek inviting a stranger to join pack night. 

“We should get to the kitchens,” Stiles said. “If you have any problems, let me know.” 

“I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, remember?” 

“I’m serious about this. People may think they can get away with treating you badly because they know Derek’s not happy with you, but you’re not a slave here. If they try to treat you like you are, tell me. I’ll deal with it.” 

“You’ll deal with it?” his dad sounded almost amused. 

“Yes. I’ll deal with it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Derek had work to do. He always had work to do. No matter how much work he did, there always seemed to be more that needed doing. He didn’t understand why some betas were obsessed with the idea of becoming an alpha; it just involved too much work. 

He had a meeting with the mayor this week and so he spent the morning preparing for it, reading the documents his staff had given him and making sure he could talk about all the points on the agenda. The mayor wanted to talk about budgets, probably trying to trim down the amount of money that was given to Derek as the local alpha. Derek would need to find a way to have that discussion without coming across as either weak or unreasonable. 

At last, he decided he’d had enough of work for today. If he stopped now, he’d get a few hours of weekend before Monday rolled around with yet more work. He left his study and headed up to the suite. 

He stopped short in the doorway, startled by the sight of Stiles sprawled over the couch. He was asleep, his mouth hanging slightly open. His limbs were all over the place. One leg dangled off the edge of the couch, an arm was flung backwards over the couch’s side, the other spread out over the back. It didn’t look like it should be remotely comfortable, but Stiles still managed to sleep. 

He looked innocent and vulnerable. He also looked open in a way he never was when he was awake. In public, there was always the mask, the stiffness of the act. Derek could sometimes almost see the cogs whirling behind Stiles’ eyes as he thought about how he should behave to give the best impression. Even in private, there was a caution to his actions. He would shoot Derek glances, as though wondering if he’d crossed some invisible line. Right now, eyes closed, Stiles looked perfectly calm. Derek wished he could make Stiles wear that expression when he was awake. 

He also wished he could kneel down in front of the couch and kiss that open mouth. 

He couldn’t do that. If he did, it would freak Stiles out completely and then there was no chance in hell of him ever being calm around him. So Derek settled for picking up the book that had obviously fallen from his hands when he’d gone to sleep. It was no wonder he’d nodded off. He’d been reading one of the old books on werewolf laws. Derek put the book on the coffee table and went into his bedroom to retrieve a blanket. Stiles had sprawled too much to be properly tucked in, but Derek could still drape the blanket over him. 

Then he headed for the gym to work out some of his frustration. 

The staff were allowed to use the gym in their breaks, but it was only usually first thing in the morning or at the end of the day when any of them took advantage of that privilege. The rest of the time, it was for the pack. Cora was on the treadmill, running at a steady pace. A dark patch of sweat on her shirt suggested that she’d been at it for some time. He headed over to her. 

“You want this machine?” she asked. The gym was small enough that there was only one of each type of equipment. 

“No. I wanted to have a word with you about school.” 

Cora kept running and nodded, “You’re sending Isaac and Scott to the local high school, so why shouldn’t I go too?” 

“It would be a good way of showing solidarity with the town, showing that what’s good enough for their families is good enough for mine.” 

“Solidarity with the humans is good,” Cora said, “but don’t go too far. You play too nicely with the humans and you’ll offend the wolves. If you want to make the Council of Alphas, you have to do things their way.” 

“I know.” Derek spent a lot of time thinking about that. What would the other alphas expect? How would his decisions be interpreted? What would Deucalion think? It was getting to the point where he was second-guessing his every thought. He wondered how Laura had managed to do this. He wondered how his mother had. 

“I can go to the human school,” Cora said. “Maybe you could explain it to the alphas as a way to remind the humans that they are under werewolf dominion, even in the town.” 

“Not a bad idea,” he said. He occasionally wondered if Cora would make a better alpha than he did. 

He moved towards the weights machines, when he suddenly remembered the other thing he needed to mention, “By the way, I’ve invited Stiles’s father to join our dinner tonight.” 

Cora hit the emergency stop button and jumped her feet to either side of the treadmill belt as it spun to a stop. She stared at him. 

“Does this mean you and the chatterbox are official?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” 

“Inviting his family to join our pack night sounds pretty serious to me.” 

“It’s not like that. I just thought Stiles would appreciate spending some time with him.” 

She was grinning, “And it didn’t occur to you to instead send Stiles away on pack night?” 

Derek hesitated. It hadn’t occurred to him. He just assumed that Stiles would be there on the pack night, as much a part of it as Isaac or Scott. Cora was still grinning. 

“Sooner or later you’ll have to actually do something about these feelings,” she said. 

“There are no feelings. This is just... politics.” 

“Oh please. I’ve seen the way you look at him.” 

Derek took a step towards her, feeling the fire behind his eyes that signalled the flash of red there. He did look at Stiles. He knew he shouldn’t. He just didn’t know how not to. He didn’t have to like being reminded of it though. 

“Cora, be quiet! And don’t talk like this at dinner tonight.” 

“Why not? His dad already thinks you’re sleeping with Stiles. He might feel better about things if he knows you’re sweet on the kid.” 

“I am not sweet!” The words came out as a low growl, an edge of the wolf in the sound. He could feel the shift of his eyes, the fire that burned there fuelled by his anger. The wolf rose to the surface, hiding just beneath his skin, wanting to leap free and assert authority. How was he supposed to be an alpha if his own sister challenged him like this? 

Cora yielded. “Alright. I won’t say anything. But you still need to sort things out with Stiles.” 

She leapt down from the treadmill and walked out of the gym. Derek glared after her for a minute, before heading to the punch bag and setting to work. 

***

Stiles woke up and immediately got himself tangled up in a blanket. He was certain that the blanket hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep, which meant that someone had put it on him. He didn’t think Scott would have done it, which left one of the wolves, probably Derek. That was hugely embarrassing. He didn’t need Derek wrapping him in blankets like he was some little kid at naptime. He had a hard enough time being taken seriously round here anyway. 

It was bad enough that he’d fallen asleep like this. He checked the time and realised he’d slept most of the morning away. His stomach growled at him. He could easily call down to the kitchen for some food, but he’d rather go down there and see what his dad was being put through. 

He hesitated for a moment about putting on the collar. His dad wouldn’t like it, but it was good to wear the symbol of slavery, given that he refused to walk around half naked. He left the silver chain off though; that just got in the way. 

The kitchen was a mad bustle of activity, as usual. Stiles tended to stay away because the place was always a frenzy and tended to involve a lot of people moving around with sharp implements, boiling water or pans fresh from the oven. Not a good place for someone easily distracted. Stiles stood in the doorway and peered into the madness, looking for the familiar face of his dad. Instead, the head chef, a dragon of a woman called Mrs Dales, saw Stiles loitering. 

“What are you after?” she demanded. 

“Lunch,” Stiles answered. 

“For you or for the alpha?” 

“Me.” 

“There’s some leftover meat pieces in that fridge,” she gestured, “and some bread over there. Make yourself a sandwich and then make yourself scarce.” 

Stiles had caught movement out of the corner of his eye when he spoke. His dad’s head emerged from one of the big ovens. He had rubber gloves on and grease splatters on his shirt, but he was clearly unhurt. Stiles felt a release of tension he hadn’t known he’d been feeling. He found a clean plate and made the sandwich, using ragged pieces of meat that obviously hadn’t been pretty enough to put on a werewolf’s dish. Then Stiles inched closer to the oven where his dad was scrubbing. 

“Are you alright?” Stiles asked quietly. 

“Yeah,” his dad replied. 

“Have they given you a lunch break?” 

Mrs Dales snapped, “He’ll get his lunch when he finishes with that oven. Now get out of here. Some of us have got real work to do.” 

Stiles didn’t want to fight with Mrs Dales. She was the only person in this compound fiercer than Derek. Stiles gave his dad an encouraging smile and then slipped out with his sandwich. 

Stiles headed upstairs, away from the kitchens and away from the public areas of the compound. The werewolves actually lived on the upper floor. He checked the suite but it was empty and Stiles didn’t think he could face the book of werewolf law again, so he tried other rooms. He found Scott and Isaac in the large lounge, playing chess in front of a big window overlooking the gardens. 

Stiles had never really liked chess. He tended to get bored and distracted half-way through a game, resulting in him making stupid moves just to get the game over with. Derek however thought that chess was wonderful training for the sort of many-moves-ahead thinking that was required in dealing with werewolf politics, so he was trying to instil a love of it in his growing pack. Judging from the number of captured pieces surrounding the board, this game had been going for a while. 

“Who’s winning?” Stiles asked. 

“Him,” Isaac replied grumpily. 

Stiles watched a few moves. He was beginning to think that this was as dull as the law book, when Scott managed a checkmate. Isaac blinked at the board a few times, as though wondering where that move had come from. 

“I hate this game,” Isaac said. “You think we could convince Derek to make something else his official training game? Maybe poker.” 

“No way,” said Stiles. “I’m not playing poker with people who can listen to my heartbeat and figure out if I’m bluffing.” 

“It would be good training for you if you ever end up facing one of the other alphas.” 

“Not going to happen.” 

“How about if we make it strip poker? You could try to get Derek’s shirt off him.” 

Scott smirked slightly at Isaac’s suggestion. Stiles glared at the both of them. It was bad enough that he was pushed into these situations with Derek without people mocking him for it. 

“It wouldn’t be a fair game,” Stiles said. “You guys wear too many clothes.” 

“Who wears too many clothes?” a new voice asked. 

Stiles spun round to see Derek in the doorway. Isaac laughed. 

“You do,” he said, “according to Stiles.” 

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Stiles protested. He was sure he must be turning crimson as Derek quirked an eyebrow at him. 

Derek’s face quickly returned to its usual, calm mask, “Erica’s arrived. She wants to go through with the bite.” 

Some werewolves made a big deal out of giving the bite. For them, it was an event televised and publicised, a reminder of werewolves’ true nature to be shown to the world. Derek didn’t feel that way. He felt that the turning of a new pack member ought to be a private matter, for the pack only. 

Isaac stood and followed Derek as he left the room. Scott went too, a little to Stiles’ surprise. Stiles started thinking about what he might do while the pack were all occupied, but Isaac paused at the doorway and turned back to him. 

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked. 

“I thought this was just for the pack,” Stiles replied. 

“That includes you, dummy.” 

So Stiles followed the others downstairs. Derek didn’t seem to mind that Scott and Stiles were there. He didn’t even seem to look at them. He just went to the formal parlour, another room used for public meetings. It was dark and oppressive, with all of the antique furniture perfectly arranged. It was nothing like the rooms that Derek actually lived in. Erica was sitting between her parents on a couch. They stood when Derek walked in, bowing as was expected. Cora was already there, standing behind the couch. 

Derek walked over to Erica. The rest of them just stood around the edges of the room, watching. Stiles felt a little bit like an intruder here. He wasn’t a werewolf. He wasn’t part of the pack. He tried to keep quiet for once and just watch the proceedings. 

“This is your last chance to back out,” Derek told Eric. “If I bite you, then either you’ll be a part of my pack or you’ll die.” 

“I understand,” she said. “I’m ready.” 

She sounded eager. Stiles had flinched away from the offer of the bite. It was hard to imagine someone who could want it so badly. What must her life be like that she was so keen to take on this one? 

Derek held out a hand and Erica placed hers in his. Derek lifted her arm to his mouth, shifting as he did so. Hair sprouted from his cheeks, his eyes gleamed red and those teeth sharpened to lethal fangs. He still stood calmly in the middle of the room, but there was something more animal about his whole being. He sank his teeth into the soft flesh on Erica’s forearm. 

Stiles looked away, stomach reeling. He’d never been good with the sight of blood but this was more than that. He’d become so used to see Derek in his human form, a person like anyone else. It was easy to forget that under the surface was this power, this thing that wasn’t quite human, that craved blood and human flesh. 

The bite was done quickly. Stiles barely heard Cora telling Erica and her parents that she’d arranged guest rooms for them for tonight. By morning, they’d know if the bite had taken. She led them out. Scott and Isaac disappeared somewhere as well. 

“Stiles, are you alright?” Derek asked. He looked human again now, but there was a trace of blood on his lips, a reminder of what he could be, what he could do. When Derek placed a hand on Stiles’ arm, Stiles flinched away. 

He hadn’t meant to. It was an instinct. 

He regretted it instantly when he saw the look of hurt that flashed across Derek’s face. 

Derek turned and stalked out of the room before Stiles could apologise.


	5. Chapter 5

“Put a shirt on,” Derek snapped at Scott. He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but it did. Stiles’ father would be joining them for dinner and he didn’t want him to see Stiles and Scott looking like slaves. He didn’t want the man to see him as a monster. The way Stiles clearly did. 

He hadn’t really thought anything of it when Stiles had refused the bite. Being a werewolf wasn’t for everyone and the threat of death could easily put someone off. Today had been different. Seeing Stiles looking away when he’d bitten Erica, seeing the way he’d reacted afterwards, had cut him to the core. Stiles was afraid of him, sickened by who he really was. Stiles went along with this charade because he had to. It was clear that he didn’t want to be near Derek. 

The best thing Derek could do was find a way to set Stiles free without it appearing like weakness. Stiles would be safe and Derek could finally stop thinking about him, stop wondering what it would be like to do all the things people assumed he was already doing. 

Scott came back out of the slaves’ room, wearing a thin t-shirt that clung to his chest. He could see Scott’s nipples through the fabric. Derek wasn’t sure it was any better than wearing nothing. 

Scott looked at Derek, clearly amused, "You're pacing." 

Derek forced his feet to stay still. There were just the two of them in the suite at the moment; Stiles had been avoiding him all afternoon and the others hadn’t arrived yet for dinner. That meant there was no one else to see how wound up he was. Scott was bad enough though. 

“It’s kind of cute,” Scott continued, “seeing how nervous you are about dinner with his dad. Are you going to ask him his blessing?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek snarled. 

"Things will be simpler when you stop being in denial about the fact you’re attracted to him.” 

“Things are more complicated than that.” 

“Because he’s human?” 

“Because he’s scared of me.” 

There were voices beyond the door, footsteps in the hallway. Derek and Scott fell silent. A moment later, the door opened. Isaac and Cora came in. Derek tried not to think about the look on Stiles’ face and asked Cora how Erica was getting on. 

“No sign of an adverse reaction. It’s still early, but it’s looking good.” 

Derek nodded, pleased. The pack needed more members. He only had two betas. Three if he included Scott, but to the rest of the world he was just another human slave. If he was ever to be taken seriously by the Council of Alphas, he needed more power. Power came from the pack. 

Stiles arrived a couple of minutes later. He met Derek’s gaze briefly, then looked away. It was embarrassment on his face this time, not fear. Scott must have noticed that look, because he steered Isaac and Cora away to the couch, leaving Derek and Stiles standing by the table. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Stiles said. “I just have a thing about blood.” 

“I didn’t realise. Sorry.” 

“It’s no big deal. But I didn’t want you think that you’d done anything wrong. I just reacted.” 

“It’s not your fault. You don’t have to be there if someone else volunteers for the bite.” 

“I wasn’t sure that I should have been there this time. You said it’s just for pack.” 

“You are pack.” The words slipped out without Derek meaning them to. He felt flustered, uncomfortable, as though he’d just spilled something precious, so he blustered forward and added, “If you want to be, that is.” 

Stiles smiled. It was the look of being caught off-guard by something, but in a good way. 

Over on the couch, Scott was looking in their direction and laughing. Derek had the feeling that once again he was the butt of all the jokes in his pack. 

There was a tap at the door of the suite. Derek called for the person to come in, assuming it would be Sheriff Stilinski. It was, but he was pushing in a trolley of food which was a little unexpected. Perhaps the kitchen staff had decided that it would save someone else the trip. 

"Hey, dad.” Stiles was instantly at his father’s side, helping to unload the platters of food onto the dining table. 

The others were up from the couch, taking things from the trolley and laying them out so that all could get at them. Isaac didn’t bother waiting, grabbing a piece of glazed chicken with his fingers and shoving it in his mouth, even as he carried the rest of the chicken to the table. It took almost no time for everything to be laid out. Then Stiles’ dad hesitated, looking at the group and the food, as though he wasn’t sure what should happen next. 

“We’re not going to be formal,” Derek told him. “Just help yourself to what takes your fancy.” 

“These are delicious,” Stiles said, reaching for a plate of little duck-shaped morsels. They were made of yam cooked around pieces of roast duck. They were delicious, and Stiles’ favourite dish. 

Isaac grabbed the dish from the table before Stiles could get it. 

“Hey!” Stiles protested. 

“Quick! Before he eats the lot!” Isaac said, grabbing one piece and shoving the plate into Cora’s hands. There followed a brief chase, with the dish being handed from one member of the pack to another, who each grabbed at least one of the little ducks. Stiles dodged between them, trying to get to the plate. At one point, Scott did a full circle of the couch, laughing cheerfully, before he shoved the plate into Derek’s hands. 

Derek held the plate above his head, just out of Stiles’ reach. Stiles jumped up to try and grab it, but Derek twisted away, unable to help the smile on his face. 

Then a wicked glint came into Stiles’ eye. He shoved a hand into Derek’s armpit and tickled. Derek made a noise that was part shriek, part giggle and definitely not a noise an alpha should ever make. He yanked his arm down, dropping the plate in his effort to prevent this sudden torment. 

Fortunately, Isaac caught the plate before the precious ducks were harmed. Cora was just laughing. Apparently hearing her big brother shrieking at being tickled was too much for her. She started turning faintly purple. 

“Do it again,” she said. “Make him make that noise again, Stiles.” 

“I hate the lot of you,” Derek told them. 

Isaac put the plate down on the table and Stiles was finally able to grab several of the yam ducks. He handed some to his father, who was standing at the edge of the room, staring in bewilderment at the proceedings. 

“Is this... normal?” he asked. 

“It involves Stiles,” Isaac said. “Could anything involving him be normal?” He offered his hand, “Issac Lahey.” 

Stiles appeared to catch himself, “Of course! Introductions. Dad, meet Isaac. This is Cora, Derek’s younger sister. And you know Scott.” 

“Hi,” said Scott. “Do you know how my mom is?” 

“She misses you,” Stiles’ dad replied. 

"Could you let her know that I miss her too?" 

“Of course.” 

Derek wondered if he should do something for Scott. Stiles would get to spend some time with his dad over the next couple of weeks, but Scott would continue to miss his mom. The situation was unfair to him. But Derek couldn’t easily arrange for Scott to see his family without it appearing like over-indulgence for a slave. He could declare that Scott needed a thorough physical and call in Melissa McCall as a nurse, but that was so ridiculously obvious no one would be fooled. He’d have to think about this. 

"Hey, broody, do you want the last one?" 

Derek had been staring into space, thinking over the problem. His attention snapped back to the room and to Stiles, who was waving one of the little yam ducks in his face. Derek liked those things, but he didn’t have the same passion for them that Stiles did. 

“You have it,” Derek said. He helped himself to some more of the rare beef that was on one of the other platters. Stiles grinned and bit the head off the duck. He returned to his father, who spoke to him in a quiet whisper that was nonetheless clear to a werewolf’s ears. 

“Did you just call an alpha werewolf ‘broody’?” 

“He broods a lot,” Stiles said, biting the head of the little duck. 

Stiles' father spent the rest of the evening in mild bewilderment, watching the exchanges between the wolf pack and the supposed slaves. Derek had meant it earlier when he’d said that Stiles was part of the pack. He laughed with the others, relaxing around the table. He was one of them, accepted. Hopefully Stiles’ father would see that and wouldn’t attempt anything more stupid than he’d already tried. 

When they’d eaten their fill, Derek declared an end to the meal. He went to check on Erica, who was sleeping soundly in one of the guest bedrooms, the wound on her arm already starting to heal. There was no sign of a fever or a reaction against the bite. Derek eased the door closed and slipped away. Tomorrow they would have another wolf for the pack. 

He returned to the suite and found the main room empty. The others had gone and someone had already cleared away the remnants of the meal. He started towards his bedroom but stopped when he heard the voices behind the door of the slaves’ room. He knew he shouldn’t listen. The whole point of giving them that bedroom was to give them some privacy, but he heard his name and his curiosity was too much for him. 

“Derek thinks you’re scared of him,” Scott was saying. 

“Well, he’s a scary guy,” Stiles replied. 

“But you know he’s never going to hurt you.” 

“I know,” Stiles said, but there was hesitation in his tone. “I trust him. I do. It’s just... sometimes I almost forget how powerful he really is. Then something reminds me and... it scares me.” 

"You shouldn't let it scare you." 

“Why not? He threatens to gag me or tie me up on an almost daily basis and no one would bat an eye if he did it. In fact, most people probably think he already does all that and more. He could have me stripped naked, hung from my ankles in front of the compound and whipped until my skin peels off and no one would try to stop him. In the eyes of the law, he’d be perfectly within his rights.” 

“But you have to know he’d never do that.” 

“But he could, and that’s the point. I don’t think he would, but what if I push him too far? Or what if...” Stiles hesitated. When he started to speak again, Derek was sure he wasn’t saying what he’d started to say. “Or what if he has to choose between appeasing the Council of Alphas and being nice to me? I mean, what if my dad launches some scheme to rescue me and we get caught, that would be a direct affront to Derek’s authority as an alpha. Derek would have no choice but to respond and to punish. You know how much Derek wants to get on the Council. If Derek is ever in a position where hurting me would help get him the power to change these damn laws, he wouldn’t hesitate. So, yeah, I’m a little scared of Derek. You’re crazy not to be.” 

Derek snuck past, hoping that Scott wouldn’t hear him, wouldn’t know he’d been listening. He got into his bedroom and stripped off, getting into bed. He lay awake for some time, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what Stiles had said. 

Derek had promised not to abuse his position of power over Stiles. He would keep that promise no matter what. It didn’t matter how much Stiles pushed him or irritated him, he wouldn’t hurt him. But he wondered about the thought Stiles hadn’t dare voice. Stiles had thought there was a scenario where Derek might consider hurting him, but Derek couldn’t imagine what that might be. He also hadn’t thought about the other scenarios Stiles clearly had. What would he do if hurting Stiles would get him an in with Deucalion? If he could get onto the Council, he’d have a say in all matters, including slavery and the treatment of humans. 

He wanted to run into the small bedroom and fall on his knees beside Stiles’ bed, swearing never to hurt him, never to give him cause to be afraid. But, in the circumstances Stiles had described, Derek wasn’t sure what he’d do. 

And that thought kept sleep away for some time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update. I've been involved in another writing project connected to one of my books which, while fun, is taking up a lot of my free writing time. I will keep working on this fic but there may be some more delays as my original writing has to come first.

Stiles had another night of disturbed sleep, broken by nightmares of blood and werewolf bites. When he finally gave up on the idea of sleep, he felt utterly drained. He went and stood under the shower for a while, hoping the flow of water would make him less dazed. It didn’t. 

When he emerged, Derek was already at the table eating breakfast. He’d made Stiles’ coffee for him. Stiles accepted it with a grunt of thanks and dove into his own food. 

"I need to see to Erica this morning,” Derek said. “You’re dad’s scheduled to help out in the gardens today. You can show him the way and get him settled if you want.” 

“Sure,” Stiles answered. At this rate, he’d be spending more time with his dad this week than he usually had when he’d been living at home. 

“After that, I’d like it if you’d join me in the gym.” 

“The gym? What for? You’re not going to try and get me doing press-ups again, are you?” 

Derek managed a faint smile of amusement, no doubt remembering the last extremely brief attempt at improving Stiles’ fitness, “Nothing like that.” 

“Then what?” 

“Come along and find out.” Derek stood, his breakfast finished with, and made for the door. 

“Your mysterious alpha routine is annoying, you know that?” Stiles called after him. But then Derek was gone. 

Stiles finished his breakfast, wondering what Derek might have in mind for him. This was probably some effort to get him healthy and make up for the fact Stiles frequently over-indulged on the excellent cooking that the kitchens provided for the alpha werewolf. If that was the case, Stiles would be better off staying the hell away from that place. Derek didn’t seem to understand the limits of human strength and stamina. But Stiles wasn’t sure. There’d been something in Derek’s eye when he’d made the request that caused a spark of curiosity. Stiles decided he’d go; he could always leave if it turned out Derek had some horrible training planned for him. 

Stiles ducked back into the bedroom. Scott woke up when the light hit his face. He got up with far too much enthusiasm for the time of day. He squeezed past Stiles and out the room, while Stiles rummaged under the bed for his sandals. 

By tradition, slaves went barefoot to show their status. However, the gardens had gravel paths and fallen twigs and other things that were extremely uncomfortable when pressing up through bare soles. So he had the sandals. They were flimsy things, just a thin sole that could be held on by a couple of feeble straps of leather. Stiles carried them by their straps as he went to his dad’s room. 

His dad shot the sandals a puzzled look but didn’t ask. Stiles explained that his dad would be outside today. Fortunately the weather was good, bright sunshine and only a few clouds. Stiles led the way downstairs and paused by a side door long enough to put on the sandals. They then stepped out onto a gravel path that wove between pristine lawns and perfectly manicured shrubs. 

As they walked, his dad started talking, “Last night, with the werewolves, was that normal?” 

“For a given value of the word normal. On pack nights, everyone relaxes and lets off steam. It can get a bit silly sometimes.” 

“I mean, the way they acted around you, and you around them.” 

“They’re my friends,” Stiles said. “I’m part of the pack.” 

“I...” his dad hesitated. “This isn’t what I expected.” 

“It’s not what we want people to expect. Derek has a reputation to maintain. He’s got to be the big, tough alpha. It would damage his position if people knew that he squeals like a little girl when tickled.” Stiles grinned at the memory. “So we act in public the way we’re expected to act.” 

“But he... doesn’t hurt you?” 

“Dad, how many times do I need to tell you I’m fine? Derek’s not a bad guy. Being a werewolf doesn’t make him a monster.” 

"You will tell me though if he does anything you’re not comfortable with?” 

“That’s not going to happen,” Stiles said. He sometimes had fears that crept into his mind about Derek but they seemed foolish by the light of day. The worst fear Stiles actually had was what Derek would do if he found out that Stiles was interested in him. The outside world assumed that the alpha werewolf used his slave for sex, but Derek had never shown the slightest interest in following through with those expectations. If Derek found out that Stiles watched him when he came out of the shower and wondered what it would be like to lie with him in that giant bed, then Derek might be angry and sickened. He might throw Stiles out, or treat him differently. There would certainly be no more evenings pressed together on the couch watching DVDs. 

They reached the sheds, tucked away behind a shield of dense hedges. The garden staff were getting ready for the day ahead. Stiles didn’t know these guys but one of them was clearly expecting his new helper. He shook the Sheriff’s hand in greeting. 

“We’ve got some quite manual work planned,” he said. “Have you got any injuries I should know about?” 

“No,” Stiles’ dad replied. 

Stiles said goodbye to his dad and headed back inside, walking slowly along the path just to enjoy this time in the sunshine. He should spend more time in the gardens. 

Back inside, he carried his sandals again as he walked to the gym. He didn’t bother taken them up to the room; he could do that after whatever Derek had planned. There was no sign of Derek when he arrived, but there was someone else there, emerging from the changing rooms with damp hair pulled back into a ponytail. It was the kitchen girl who often brought the meals up to the suite. 

“Hi,” she said, clearly surprised to see Stiles, but smiling. 

“Hi,” Stiles said back. “So, you use the gym.” 

Which was a statement of the obvious and probably the least smooth thing Stiles could possibly have said. But she smiled at him anyway. 

“Sometimes before work,” she said. She was just standing there in front of him, surrounded by the exercise equipment. She wasn’t heading for the door. She was just waiting. Stiles got the feeling she was waiting for something from him. 

“I’ve seen you around,” he said, “but I’ve never caught your name.” 

“Kelly. You’re Stiles, right?” 

“Right.” 

“Is it true about your dad? Is he working here so that you can go home?” 

“For a little bit anyway, yeah.” 

“That’s... well, good for him. Good for you. Good.” She gave an embarrassed laugh, her face flustered. Stiles wondered if that was how he looked when he got side-tracked by a train of thought that wouldn’t stop spewing out of his mouth. 

The gym door opened and Kelly looked past Stiles to the new arrival. Her flush faded into pale skin, the embarrassment tinged with fear. She gave a bow to Derek, who stood in the doorway, glower fixed on his face. 

“I should get to the kitchens,” she said. Derek stood aside to let her hurry out and he turned slightly to glare after her. 

“What’s up?” Stiles asked. 

The fierceness of the glare diminished a little as he turned back to Stiles, but it didn’t disappear completely. He walked past Stiles towards a door at the back of the gym saying, “Nothing. Let’s get on with this.” 

“You still haven’t told me what this is,” Stiles complained, following. 

This turned out to be a small room off the back of the gym containing a padded table with a hole in one end. It was a massage table. There was a narrow counter along the back of the room with cupboards beneath and a sink set into the surface. While Stiles stood there, looking around and wondering what was going on, Derek flicked a lock in the door, shutting them inside. 

"Take your shirt off and get on the table,” Derek ordered. 

Stiles found his throat suddenly dry. His brain ceased rational thought for several seconds. All he could think was that Derek was asking him to take his clothes off. And Derek was opening one of the cupboards and taking out what looked suspiciously like a bottle of oil. 

Derek turned to look at Stiles and then nodded sternly towards the table. 

Stiles had to remind himself that he was safe, that Derek wasn’t interested in him, that it was only his shirt Derek had asked him to remove. His mind was trying to furnish him with visions of what else might be done with this padded table and that bottle of oil. He yanked off his shirt and hurried onto the table before the first stirrings of an erection made a noticeable lump in his trousers. Stiles positioned himself face down with his head on the hole, and then Derek was beside him. Warm, strong hands began soothing strokes up and down Stiles’ back, easing the oil across this skin. 

Stiles managed to swallow around the dryness of his throat and get his voice going again. 

“What’s all this about?” he asked. 

“You’ve been having nightmares lately. Not sleeping. You need to relax.” 

“So this is about relaxing me?” 

“Yes!” Derek’s voice sounded about as relaxed as a car accident. It was the tone of voice Stiles usually associated with threats of violence. 

There was something surreal about this whole situation. Derek Hale, Mr Gruff Alpha Werewolf himself, was rubbing oil into Stiles’ back. Oil that had a distinctive scent of lavender. Stiles was resisting the urge to burst out laughing at how bizarre all this was. 

Another part of Stiles' brain was stuck on the fact that Derek's hands were all over him, warm and firm against his skin, easing into his muscles. It would be the work of moments for him to yank down Stiles’ pants and roughly take him with lavender scented massage oil. 

“Stop squirming,” Derek said. “Stay still and relax.” 

“I’d probably be more relaxed if you didn’t keep growling orders at me.” 

But in a strange way it was relaxing. It was normal. Normal for them anyway. Derek was always snarling at him, threatening to gag him if he didn’t shut up and trying to get him to sit still when he just needed to move. It reminded Stiles that this was still Derek, the same person he always was. Despite the strange pseudo-sexual nature of the situation, this was just Derek, trying to be nice in his own, awkward way. 

Stiles felt himself sink into the padded table, while Derek’s fingers worked into stiff muscles. Stiles let his mind drift, let his body let go. The aches and tension of the last few days were soothed away in a haze of lavender. Derek worked slowly, applying pressure just on the good side of painful, forcing the knots to shift. Stiles shut his eyes and let himself just feel. 

***

Derek wasn’t surprised when Stiles fell asleep. His sleep had been so messed up lately that taking the time for something specifically relaxing had been enough to send him into slumber. Taking care to be quiet, Derek washed the oil from his hands and then pulled a towel from one of the cupboards, draping it over Stiles’ bare back so that he wouldn’t get cold. Then Derek turned down the lights and slipped from the room. 

Away from Stiles. Away from the smoothness of his pale skin. Away from the scent of desire that made Derek’s blood boil with passion and fury in equal measure. When he smelled that trace, the wolf in him wanted to strip Stiles right there and claim him. But he knew the scent wasn’t for him. He’d been talking to that girl again, the kitchen girl who was always coming to the suite and giving Stiles flirtatious looks. Stiles had been talking to her and Derek had smelled his want. He’d had to use the scented oils just to keep from going crazy in there. 

It didn't change anything. He'd known Stiles wasn’t interested in him. This was just confirmation. 

Derek headed back to his study, back to work. If he buried himself in tedious paperwork for several hours, maybe he’d forget what it was like to run his hands over Stiles’ skin. Maybe he’d stop imagining what it would be like to push down those pants and see the rest of him. 

Maybe.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles was a little disorientated when he woke up. It took several moments for his brain to get into gear and remember where he was. The memory came back and he climbed from the massage table, retrieving his t-shirt and trying not to feel too embarrassed about falling asleep. He wasn’t sure what to do with the towel that Derek had lain over him like a blanket, so he just left it folded on the end of the table and hurried back up to the suite. 

Scott was there, reading one of the werewolf history books. He looked up Stiles and wrinkled his nose in a puzzled manner. 

“Why do you smell of flowers?” Scott asked. 

Stiles hadn’t realised it was so noticeable. He guessed that was because he’d just grown accustomed to it. 

“Scented massage oil,” Stiles said. 

Scott’s puzzled look only grew, “Massage oil?” 

“Derek thought I need to relax.” 

The puzzlement shifted into a smirk and Scott was about a breath away from sniggering, “So he gave you a massage?” 

“Stop smirking! It wasn’t like that.” 

“I’ll bet,” Scott said, the smirk still in residence on his face. 

“This whole sex slave thing is weird enough without you making suggestive comments!” 

“It won’t get any easier until you two stop flirting and face things.” 

“Flirting?” said Stiles. “I’m not flirting. There’s no flirting. Definitely nothing flirtatious happening at all. I am completely unflirted.” 

"So I was imagining it when you practically told him to tie you up the other day?” 

Stiles remembered that conversation, an off-hand joke when they’d been watching a DVD. The words had slipped out before he’d thought about them and he’d spent the rest of the evening worried how Derek might interpret them. Scared that he’d realise that Stiles might actually want that. Scared that Derek might be disgusted and throw him out of the room. 

“That was an accident,” Stiles said. 

“You were flirting with him.” 

“I wasn’t! And even if there might have been some Freudian flirting, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’s going to be interested in me.” 

“Are you blind or just stupid?” Scott asked. 

“What?” 

Scott put aside the book and gave Stiles a long look. 

“You really don’t see it, do you?” 

“See what?” asked Stiles. 

“Derek is into you.” 

“Now you’re the one being stupid.”

“Scented massage oil?” Scott quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“He was just being nice.” 

“Derek’s nice to me but he’s never brought out the lavender scented massage oil.” 

“He saw I was stressed and he was trying to help.” 

“Stiles, open your eyes and see what’s going on. The most powerful guy in Beacon Hills whisked you off for a private massage. Yesterday, he was playing keep-away with you over those stupid ducks. The day before, you got him to watch Firefly all snuggled up next to you on the couch.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything. It’s not a very big couch.” 

“He could snap his fingers and have a bigger couch in here in under half an hour. Did it not occur to you that he likes the excuse to press up next to you?” 

Stiles opened his mouth to make another argument but nothing came out. With Scott laying things out in front of him like this, it was hard to think up rational reasons why Derek would do the things he had. It could still be that he was just trying to be nice, trying to prove that his private persona wasn’t the same as the one people saw. Or it could be that Scott was right and Derek was interested in him. 

His brain still couldn’t quite wrap around that particular concept. Nobody noticed him. Ever. He’d been trying to get Lydia Martin to see he existed for years and she’d never even seen that he was there. Why would Derek, the super-powerful werewolf with a body to make a Greek sculptor proud, so much as glance at him? 

"Do you really think he's interested in me?" Stiles asked. 

Scott threw up his hands in frustration, “Yes! He’s into you.” 

“Then why hasn’t he said anything? Why hasn’t he done anything?” 

Scott gave him another look that spoke volumes about Stiles’ perceived idiocy. 

“Don’t you even remember last night’s conversation?” Scott asked. “Derek thinks you’re scared of him. He doesn’t want to be the evil master that takes advantage of a helpless slave.” 

“I’m hardly helpless.” 

Scott gave him another look. Stiles started to think he should compile a dictionary of Scott’s looks for translation purposes. This one was clearly stating that if Stiles tried to fight Derek, he’d end up a paste on the floor. 

“What do I do?” Stiles asked. 

“What do you want to do?” 

Stiles thought about that question. What did he want to do? He wanted to do Derek, obviously, but beyond that he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like a relationship with Derek was even remotely a possibility. Derek was an alpha werewolf. Stiles was the lowest status it was possible for a human to be. But maybe Stiles could ignore the fact that there was no chance of a future and just enjoy the present. 

"I want to tell him that I'm interested in him." 

***

Stiles headed down to the kitchens to plan lunch. Derek, when he was working, usually just asked for sandwiches in his study, but Stiles had other ideas. He had to talk to Derek soon or he’d lose his nerve, but he couldn’t just barge in and announce that he was attracted to him, particularly not with the mood Derek had been in lately. So Stiles would do something nice and get him receptive and then tell him. 

Mrs Dales was working on something on one of the big counters when Stiles walked in, kitchen bustle taking place all around her. She looked up at him, clearly annoyed at the interruption. 

“What are you after?” she demanded. 

“I want to talk about Derek’s lunch,” Stiles answered. 

“Is he asking for something different today?” 

“He’s not asking but I wanted to take his lunch myself and I wanted something a bit special.” 

“Special?” 

Stiles fought to sum up what he was after. He could hardly say that he was planning on seducing the alpha werewolf, especially since everyone in here already thought they were sleeping together. 

“You know,” Stiles said, “something the two of us could eat, you know, together.” 

Mrs Dales sighed, “Next time give me more notice. We’ve got some fruit you can have and there are some canapés in the second fridge. You, girl, help him find what he needs.” 

Stiles turned to see who she was signalling to. It was Kelly, the girl from the gym early. She gave Stiles a nervous smile and set about helping him to collect food from the appropriate fridge. There were little salmon nibbles and some pate with breadsticks. She also fished out a bowl of berries and fruit pieces. She arranged all this on a large tray, along with the sandwiches that had already been prepared in anticipation of Derek’s lunch order. 

The kitchens always had an impressive array of food ready, just in case a werewolf called for something on a whim, or there were unexpected visitors to the compound. Mrs Dales could probably whip up a full banquet in under an hour with the contents of this kitchen so Stiles didn’t feel too bad about imposing on her for a quick lunch. 

“Is there some special occasion?” Kelly asked. 

Stiles didn’t feel like explaining fully so he went for a half truth. “He’s been in a bad mood lately and he’s annoyed with me because of my dad. I want to get back on his good side.” 

Kelly nodded with the sympathetic look of one who had heard the rumours and believed that Stiles went fully clothed to hide the fact that Derek Hale took pleasure in punishing his body slaves. She put a hand on Stiles’ arm, a gentle touch filled with kindness. 

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help,” she said. 

“You’ve already been really helpful,” Stiles answered. 

Then a look of inspiration came onto Kelly’s face. She quickly darted across the kitchen and returned a minute later with a small glass jug filled with some sort of syrup. She placed it on the tray. 

“To go on the fruit,” she said, and then gave a wink. “That should put him in a better mood.” 

She picked up the tray and handed it to Stiles, their fingers brushing slightly as he took the handles. Then she gave him another soft smile and another comforting touch on the arm. 

“Good luck,” she said. She held the kitchen door open for him. 

As Stiles started walking slowly away, he heard another voice drifting through the door. It was Mrs Dales’ voice, kinder than Stiles had ever heard it before. 

“Careful, girl,” she said. “You don’t want to get too cosy with the alpha’s property. He’s got a jealous streak.” 

Stiles didn’t think too much on that as he walked away. Mrs Dales was just misinterpreting Kelly being nice. He had more important things to think about, like how he was going to bring up the subject of attraction with Derek. 

He reached the study no closer to figuring it out and he nudged the door handle down with his elbow so could push the door open. He hadn’t knocked; he hadn’t had a hand free to knock. Derek looked up at him from behind the desk, a glare set onto his face. 

“What’s this about?” he snarled. 

“I brought you lunch,” Stiles said. “I thought you might want something more than just sandwiches.” 

He carried the tray over, trying to find a paper-free part of the desk to set it on. Derek didn’t seem inclined to help, so Stiles just put the tray down on top of some of the papers. Derek was still glaring. 

“I suppose you just happened to be hanging around in the kitchens?” 

“No,” Stiles said, more than a little confused as to the source of Derek’s anger. 

“Were you hanging out with that kitchen girl?” 

“No,” Stiles said again. 

“Don’t lie to me!” Derek slammed a hand down on the desk so hard that the plates rattled on the tray. Stiles jumped, startled and suddenly nervous. Derek was on his feet, stalking round the desk like an animal on the prowl. 

“I’m not lying.”

The Derek was right in front of him. Stiles took an instinctive step back and nearly tripped over a chair. All those previously hidden fears rose to the surface again and reminded him that he was in the room with an incredibly dangerous man. Derek wasn’t much taller than him, but he seemed to loom, dark and menacing, in front of Stiles. 

“I can smell her on you,” Derek said. “If you’re interested in her then I won’t stop you but just don’t lie about it.” 

“I’m not lying, I swear.” 

There was red in Derek’s eyes, the first hint of the wolf wanting to be free. Stiles tried to back away again, avoiding the chair this time. He made it almost to the door, but Derek was there again, crowding into his personal space, pressing him back against the wood. 

“I can smell you,” Derek said. “I could smell you this morning. She smiled at you and I smelled the desire you felt.” 

“It’s not like that,” Stiles protested. 

“Are you trying to tell me I didn’t smell desire?” 

“You had your hands all over me when I was half naked! Of course you smelled desire.” Derek hesitated. The red vanished from his eyes in an instant and he stared at Stiles in shock. But Stiles didn’t stop there. His mouth had started working and his brain wasn’t about to intercept the words that flowed out. 

“I felt desire for you,” Stiles said. “God only knows why because you’re a freaking psychopath. I went to the kitchens to get us lunch. I try to do something nice for you and you act like I’ve committed some crime. You’re... you’re an animal.” 

Stiles was shaking slightly, much though he wished he wouldn’t. Derek took a step back, the shocked look still on his face. 

Stiles used the sudden space to grab for the door handle, managing to get the door open. He ran. He didn’t know where he was running to. He just knew he needed to get away from here, away from Derek. He’d just yelled at a man who could rip him apart with his bare hands. Worse than that, he’d just admitted being attracted to him.


	8. Chapter 8

Running after Stiles was probably the worst thing Derek could do right now and he knew it. He’d just acted like a possessive animal and chasing Stiles would only terrify the human further. Grabbing him and pinning him to a wall to ask for forgiveness for nearly pinning him to a wall would not help. So Derek took a breath. He forced himself to be calm and ran Stiles’ words through his mind again. 

Stiles was attracted to him. That should have set his heart racing with excitement but Derek knew he’d just screwed up in the most monumental way possible. If Stiles had been scared of him before, it was nothing to how he must be feeling now. 

He had to apologise. He had to apologise as soon as possible. But he had to do it without scaring Stiles further. Derek made sure that he appeared calm and he walked from the study, trying to guess which way Stiles would have gone. He walked quickly but didn’t race, heading to the suite. Scott was sitting on the couch in the living area, looking at Derek in surprise. 

“What’s up?” Scott asked. 

“Have you seen Stiles?” 

“A little while ago. He was going to have lunch with you.” 

Derek turned to leave again. Stiles wasn’t here and there was a large compound to search. 

“Derek, wait,” Scott was on his feet now, anxious, “what’s happened?” 

Derek wasn’t sure how to answer. He wasn’t sure how much Scott knew. He wasn’t sure where he stood with Stiles now and didn’t want to say anything that would be proved untrue later if Stiles was unable to forgive him. But if anyone could win Stiles round, it was Scott. 

“I called him a liar,” Derek said, “and yelled at him. I scared him and he ran off. Now I need to find him and apologise.” 

“I’ll help you look,” Scott said. He followed Derek from the room. They didn’t make it very far when one of Derek’s administrators appeared, a little out of breath. 

“Sir,” he said, “we received a call from the mayor’s office that he’s on route for your meeting this afternoon. He will arrive in about half an hour.” 

That damn meeting. Derek had been preparing for it for a few days now, but it was the last thing he wanted to think about. 

“He’ll have to wait,” Derek snapped. The administrator blinked and took a step back. He looked like he wanted to argue, but was trying to find a way to do so without getting bitten in two. 

“Sir,” Scott said quietly, playing the part of the obedient slave, “I can take care of this.” He added, in a voice so quiet only werewolf ears would hear it, “The meeting’s important. I’ll talk to Stiles.” 

Derek didn’t want to sit in a meeting with the mayor talking about politics and werewolf law and the issues of the town, but he knew what Laura would say if she could see him now. She would tell him that he had to put his duty as alpha ahead of his personal desires. Besides, Stiles wouldn’t be scared of Scott. Scott could give a message that Stiles might not be ready to hear from Derek directly. 

Derek turned to Scott, whispering faintly, “Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I’d like us to talk. Tell him...” Derek wasn’t sure what else to add to this message. He wanted to promise that he’d never do anything like this again, that he’d never hurt Stiles, that Derek would make this right, but he wasn’t sure anyone would believe promises like that. “Just tell him I’m sorry.” 

Scott gave the formal bow and the Derek walked off, striding beside the administrator who looked less than happy about being in such close proximity to an angry werewolf. Derek reached his study, intending to tidy his notes prior to the mayor’s arrival, when he saw the tray of lunch still sitting on his desk. 

Derek found he had no appetite. He had no desire to eat alone something that Stiles had intended for them to share. The food seemed to be an accusation of how Derek had messed up. He couldn’t even manage something as simple as a lunch without being stupid; how was he ever meant to be an alpha? 

“Have someone from the kitchen come to clear this away,” Derek snapped at the administrator, who took that as an excuse to beat a hasty retreat. 

Derek went to his desk to sort his papers, putting most of them away and just keeping out a few key notes for the upcoming meeting. A couple of minutes later, there came a quiet tap on the door. It was, of all people, the kitchen girl. 

“Get rid of that,” Derek gestured at the untouched tray. She moved over to it, then hesitated. 

“Weren’t you happy with it?” she asked. “I know Stiles wanted to make you happy.” 

“I know what he was trying to do.” 

“Is he... erm... did you...” she trailed off. Derek could read her fears in her face. She thought he’d been angry with Stiles and punished him. It wasn’t too far from the truth. 

“Just do your job,” Derek snarled at her. She grabbed the tray and hurried from the room. 

He wanted to be mad at her. He’d reacted the way he had because he’d smelled her scent on Stiles, but he knew the truth. He’d reacted the way he had because he’d been jealous, because he had automatically assumed Stiles was lying, because he hadn’t trusted. Derek was seething inside, but the target of his rage was himself. 

***

Scott started looking with the rooms they occupied most frequently, quickly checking Isaac’s room as well just in case Stiles was there. He didn’t really expect to find him there, but he didn’t want to spend ages looking because he missed somewhere obvious. Once he’d eliminated the obvious places, he had a very big compound to search. Stiles could be just about anywhere. 

He tried to think about this logically. Presumably Stiles was wanting to avoid them, otherwise he would have just come back to the suite. This meant he would have to be somewhere he wouldn’t normally be found, but also somewhere Derek wasn’t likely to go. That still left most of the massive compound, but when Scott factored in the fact that most of the compound was filled with highly curious members of staff, the list shrunk considerably. 

Scott started with the gardens. He headed downstairs and out through a side door. The gravel paths were uncomfortable beneath his bare feet but Scott ignored that. If his feet were cut, they’d just heal themselves. He walked quickly, looking around at the carefully arranged flora. 

For a moment, he thought he’d got lucky, catching a trace of a familiar scent. Scott hurried around a wall of greenery and realised his mistake. Sherriff Stilinski was in the middle of a flower bed, digging over the earth in preparation for new planting. Scott had been picking up the Sherriff’s scent, which was mingled with the more familiar scent of Stiles. The Sherriff spotted Scott and leaned on his spade. 

“Hi,” he said. 

“Have you seen Stiles?” Scott asked. 

“I saw him this morning,” the Sherriff replied, “when he showed me where I’d be working.” 

“But not since then?” 

“Scott, is something wrong?” 

Scott hesitated a moment before answering, “Stiles and Derek had an argument. Derek’s asked me to find Stiles and pass on his apologies.” 

“Is Stiles alright?” The fear on the Sherriff’s face was clear. “If that bastard’s hurt him...” 

Scott cut him off before he could say anything that would get him in trouble, “I’m sure Stiles is fine. Derek wouldn’t hurt him.” 

The Sherriff stared at Scott like he'd grown a second head, “He trapped you both here in slavery and you act like he’s done nothing wrong.” 

“What happened isn’t Derek’s fault.” Derek was as much trapped as his two slaved, bound by traditions and expectations that came with his rank. He’d been forced into this situation because of Peter, just as Scott had. Peter, Scott could hate. Derek, was another matter entirely. 

“Why do you make excuses for him? This whole situation is messed up.” 

“It’s messed up,” Scott agreed, “but not by Derek’s design. He’s doing the best he can to deal with a bad situation.” 

The Sherriff was keeping his voice low, through obvious effort, “So because he acts nice to you, you’re willing to forgive him? If he were anything but an alpha, this would be illegal exploitation of minors. Just because the law is a twisted mess where these creatures are concerned, it doesn’t stop it being wrong.” 

Scott resisted the urge to flinch when he heard the word creatures. It was spat with such hatred. Scott couldn’t admit that he was one of them, another creature caught up in this world of werewolf laws and traditions. How many other people would look at him with such disgust when the truth became known? There was a little worried voice in the back of Scott’s mind asking the more important question: would Stiles be one of them? 

“I should keep looking for Stiles,” Scott said. 

“I’ll help,” the Sherriff started to set down his spade. 

“No, you should keep working. You don’t want to be seen breaking the deal with Derek. But if you see Stiles, let him know that I’m looking for him.” 

“I’ll tell him. And, Scott, please take care of him.” 

Scott wondered about trying to assure him again that Stiles would be fine. Instead, he settled for saying, “I will.”


	9. Chapter 9

When Stiles ran, he half expected Derek to grab him from behind and... he wasn’t sure what came next but it wouldn’t be good. It took him a few seconds to realise that no one was chasing after him and he slowed to a walk, but he couldn’t stop moving. He couldn’t be calm. The sense of overwhelming fear was a physical force inside his body and he felt the need to run and hide. He needed to shut the world away for a while. 

He floundered through the nearest rooms, barely away of his surroundings, able to focus on the sensation of being pursued, being under threat. His breath came in ragged gasps. He reached the ballroom, a huge empty space, and it was like a wide, flat prairie where lions could track their prey and chase across great distances. And he was the prey. 

Then he saw the stairs. They were a narrow spiral up to a gallery. The idea was that musicians would be on the gallery, their melodies drifting down over dancers in the main hall. Right now, Stiles just saw it as an escape route. He reached the stairs and scrambled up them, holding onto a handrail with hands slick with sweat. He reached the top of the stairs and crossed to the far corner of the gallery, tucking himself into a small ball, hidden from the room below. 

He sat there, huddled into a gloomy corner, until his breathing returned to normal and his racing heartbeat slowed. The symptoms of the panic attack slowly faded and the sense of horrific terror faded with them. 

But the fear didn’t disappear completely. 

He’d told Derek he was attracted to him. OK, so that was what Stiles had intended to do, but he hadn’t intended it in that way. And he hadn’t intended to admit it to a man behaving as irrationally jealous and possessive as Derek had been. What if Derek took that admission as permission? What if that wild, angry Derek decided to claim what he thought was his? 

Instinctively, Stiles tried to huddle himself into an even smaller ball, trying to make himself less of a target, even though there was no one here. 

He hadn’t expected Derek to behave like that. He’d seen Derek play the part of the fierce alpha werewolf but he’d thought that was all it was: a part. He’d thought that the kinder Derek, the one who teased him with yam ducks and gave him a massage was the real Derek. Suddenly, he wondered which was the mask. 

His dad clearly thought of Derek as some exploiter of poor, innocent teenage boys. His dad was unconvinced by the friendly behaviour in private. Maybe he’d been right. Maybe the real Derek was an angry monster trying to lure them in with kindness before showing his true nature. 

Stiles had repeatedly told his dad that Derek wasn’t going to hurt him. Yes, there’d been some level of fear but it was only a vague sense, something to add a layer of caution to his behaviour, like paying attention to other drivers out of fear of a car crash. Today though, seeing Derek in that study, had been genuinely frightening. If someone asked him right now if Derek would hurt him, he wouldn’t know what the answer would be. 

Stiles was snapped from his thoughts by a sound in the hall below. It was a faint noise of someone opening a door. 

Stiles wasn’t ready to be found, wasn’t ready to face Derek or anyone else. He was suddenly aware of how noisy he must be if the person down there was a werewolf. He put a hand over his mouth to try and muffle the sound of his breathing. He couldn’t do anything about his heart, which felt like it was starting to race again. 

He hoped whoever was down there would just go away, but there came a faint tread of footsteps on the stairs. For a moment, he weighed the benefits of trying to stay silent and motionless in hopes of them going away, or getting up. He went with getting up. The odds of being left alone were getting slimmer with every step and he wanted to face whoever was coming on his feet. He stood and did his best to give the impression that he hadn’t been huddled in terror like a frightened child. 

He thought it would be Derek or maybe Scott. Even Isaac would have been more expected than the person who stepped onto the gallery. It was Erica, but she did not look like the nervous girl he remembered from school. She was dressed in an outfit revealing impressive amounts of skin but the real difference was in her demeanour. She walked in like she owned the place, a cold smile on her face when she saw Stiles. 

“Hello, Stiles,” she said. 

“Erica,” Stiles managed. He didn’t manage to conceal his surprise, but he did manage to keep his eyes from straying to the prominent cleavage. That took some effort. She walked across the gallery towards him and he kept his gaze locked on her face. She smirked. 

“You’re looking at my eyes,” she said. 

“You... have beautiful eyes,” Stiles said. 

“I have beautiful everything.” 

She was right in front of him now, uncomfortably close. Stiles tried to move back, but the wall behind him remained obstinately solid. Stiles wondered briefly if a desire to shove him against walls was a werewolf thing. 

“Do you know,” Erica said, “that I used to have a massive crush on you? Of course, you never even noticed I was there. No one ever noticed, unless they wanted to laugh at me.” 

"That's... um...” Stiles wasn’t sure what to say to that. He wasn’t used to the idea that people could be interested in him, now it turned out both Derek and Erica had been looking at him. Did he have some sort of hormone that made him attractive to werewolves? 

“Now, you’re here,” Erica said, “and I’m here. I’m a werewolf and you’re a body slave.” She stepped closer. She was pressed up against him and Stiles was acutely aware that there were some serious breasts right against his body, threatening to send his mental faculties plummeting down into his pants. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to edge past her, but that just caused _rubbing_. 

“What do a body slave’s duties include?” Erica asked. She reached out a hand which she rested on Stiles’ upper arm in a gesture that was a twisted parody of romance. 

“It’s not like that,” Stiles said. He tried again to slip aside, but she slammed her other hand against the wall by his head. He was effectively trapped between her arms. 

“Oh but it is like that,” Erica said, her voice soft and low. “You’re a slave and I can make you do whatever I like.” 

“No, you can’t.” He tried to shove her away, but was hindered by her werewolf strength and the fact that he could really put his hands on her anywhere without it just making the situation worse. 

“You don’t get to say what I can’t do, _slave_ ,” Erica said. 

Stiles noticed points of pain on his arm. She’d extended her new claws and they were digging into his flesh. He tried to pull away, but the movement just made the pain flare more. He was aware of warm dribbles of blood down his skin. 

“Let me go,” Stiles insisted. “I’m not your slave and you don’t get to treat me like this.” 

The faint tremble in his voice made his words sound slightly less brave than they had in his head. Erica had werewolf strength now. She could physically overpower him; that message was driven home by the hot spots of pain on his arm. 

It was a strange moment for the flash of memory, but Stiles suddenly remembered that he’d fantasied more than once about the idea of a strong woman over-powering him and forcing him to experience sexual pleasures. The reality definitely didn’t live up to the fantasy and Stiles knew that he’d never be able to use those particular mental images ever again. 

“You’re rather mouthy for a slave,” Erica said. “From the rumours, I would have thought Derek would have beaten that out of you by now.” She smiled coldly, “Maybe he’ll let me help him.” 

“You can’t do this,” Stiles said. “Derek will kill you if you do.” 

He hated himself for having to invoke Derek’s name like he was a great protector, but there was probably a lot of truth in the statement. After all, Derek had become insanely jealous over Stiles even talking to a girl. How would he react to Erica being all over him? The fear still racing around Stiles’ head was that Derek might be angry at him over this. 

The threat was enough to make Erica pause at least so Stiles decided to do what he did best: talk. 

“Wolves are very territorial and werewolves are no different. Derek’s not going to appreciate it if you encroach on what he thinks of as his territory. You should have seen how angry he got because a girl from the kitchens just talked to me. When he finds out what you’re planning, he might see it as a challenge. You really don’t want to challenge an alpha. I mean, you’ve only just learned about your wolfy powers. He’ll tear you to pieces without even trying.” 

She seemed to be listening to him. Erica took a step back. Suddenly Stiles felt like had room to breathe again. Her hand left his arm and he felt another surge of pain as the claws ripped free. He clamped his other hand over the bleeding cuts in a vain hope to slow the flow of blood. 

"Get away from him!" 

Scott suddenly burst up the stairs and charged across the gallery. Fast as blinking, he grabbed hold of Erica and flung her aside. She skidded across the floor to the low railings that separated the gallery from the ballroom. Stiles just stood there in surprise. Presumably Erica had been surprised too, to be flung aside like that. 

Erica leapt to her feet, snarling. Her eyes blazed yellow and her face shifted, features becoming more animalistic. 

“You don’t get to do that, slave,” she growled. 

“Try me,” Scott snarled back. 

Stiles wanted to roll his eyes at Scott for having the same lousy timing as always. Naturally, he’d charge in here to save the day right after Stiles managed to talk her down on his own. He’d berate Scott for his timing later though, once he’d finished being terrified for him. Erica was a werewolf; Scott was the wheezy asthmatic who’d never made it off the bench in lacrosse. 

Erica leapt at Scott. There was a whirl of claws and striking limbs too fast for Stiles to follow. Then Scott flung Erica back. She hit the rails and kept going, flying over the edge of the gallery to land with a sickening cracking noise onto the floor below. 

Stiles was over at the rails in a second, looking down. She was still moving, clearly in pain but very definitely not dead. She’d heal. Stiles wasn’t sure for a moment if he was glad or disappointed. 

Scott was at the railings beside him and that was when Stiles became very aware that one pair of hands clutching the rail had claws. Stiles turned to look at Scott and saw the gleam of yellow in his eyes. 

It was gone in a blink. Scott looked human again. He started to reach out towards Stiles, towards the bleeding wound on his arm. But then he hesitated. A stranger might not have seen it, but Stiles knew Scott well enough to see fear in his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Scott asked. 

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles said. He headed for the stairs, wanting to be out of here before Erica recovered fully from her fall. Scott was right behind him. Down in the ballroom, Erica was getting to her feet. She looked rough, but her injuries weren’t going to last long. There were claw marks in her side, her clothes red with blood, but the flesh beneath was visibly healing. 

Scott paused, positioning himself between Erica and Stiles. 

“Don’t assume you know anything about what’s going on round here,” Scott said. “I suggest you have a long talk with Derek before you come near either of us again.” 

Stiles headed out the door and there was Scott, right beside him. Stiles found himself suddenly shaky. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was the fact he hadn’t actually had lunch. He wavered on his feet and Scott was right there next to him, an arm around him to hold him up. 

“Let’s get you up to the suite and get that bandaged,” Scott said. 

“Right,” Stiles said, “and not that I don’t appreciate the whole knight-in-shining-armour routine, but I had everything under control.” 

“You’re bleeding,” Scott pointed out. 

“True, but I’d talked her into backing off.” 

“Only you could talk a werewolf out of attacking.” 

"It's my superpower.” 

Up in the suite, Stiles sat in one of the chairs at the dining table to avoid getting blood on the couch. Scott instructed Stiles to take off his shirt, and then left him with it balled up against the wound. Scott returned a few minutes later with a wad of bandages and a first aid kit. 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Stiles asked. 

“I’ve done this with cats.” 

“You really know how to fill a guy with confidence.” 

Despite only having done anything like this before at the vets, Scott made quick and efficient work of cleaning and bandaging the cuts, applying copious amounts of antiseptic. Pretty soon there was a layer of white wrapped around Stiles’ upper arm. 

“I don’t think you need stitches,” Scott said, “but you might want to get it checked by someone who’s had actual medical training.” 

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Stiles said. He helped pack away the first aid kit, throwing the bloody t-shirt into the trash. The urgent business taken care off, he turned to Scott with the questions that had been racing around his mind since the gallery. 

“How are you a werewolf? When did this happen? And why the hell didn’t you tell me when you accepted Derek’s offer of the bite?” 

“Because I didn’t accept the offer,” Scott said. “I didn’t accept anything. No one asked.” 

“But the law...” 

“Not all werewolves obey the law.” 

“Are you saying that Derek bit you without going through the usual procedure?” 

“It wasn’t Derek who bit me.” 

“Then who?” 

“Peter.” 

“The previous alpha? The one Derek calls...” 

“His psychotic uncle,” Scott finished. “Yeah. That Peter.”


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles scrubbed the last traces of blood from his skin and then rummaged in the box under the bed for a clean t-shirt. He dug through them all but there was nothing at all that was both clean and long-sleeved. He pulled on one of the shirts, but there was a line of white bandage visible beneath the sleeve. He couldn’t do anything to hide it. 

He emerged back into the main room of the suite to find Scott on the phone with the kitchens, ordering them some food. Scott finished up his conversation and then turned to Stiles. 

“So, what happened with Derek?” Scott asked. 

“You first,” Stiles replied. “How the hell did you end up a werewolf and a slave?” 

Scott sank into one of the seats at the table. Stiles took a seat across from him. Stiles managed to keep himself quiet long enough for the silence to feel a little uncomfortable. It felt awkward, tense. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever felt this uncomfortable around his best friend before. Scott eventually started talking to fill the silence. 

“Derek’s older sister, Laura, was the alpha,” Scott said. “Their uncle, Peter, wanted her power and he killed her, but not in an official challenge. He tried to convince Derek that it was a heat-of-the-moment thing, but Derek didn’t believe it. Peter was worried that Derek and Cora would turn against him, so he decided to grow his pack, to gain allies against Derek.” 

“And he did it without following the rules about permission?” 

Scott nodded, “I was on the road. I wasn’t in the Hale territory when Peter bit me. He didn’t ask if I wanted it.” 

Peter had broken at least two rules with one bite. 

“Derek and Cora challenged Peter before my change could fully take effect,” Scot went on. “Derek killed him and became the new alpha, but they still had to deal with me. According to the laws, the alpha bears responsibility for the crimes of the pack. By killing Peter, Derek basically assumed the guilt of his crime. If we explained what really happened, Derek would have been tried by the Council of Alphas.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” said Stiles. 

“Has anything about this ever struck you as fair?” 

“Fair point.” 

“We came up with this ruse,” Scott said. “He would say that I was caught trespassing and then he would be within his rights to claim me as a slave. At that point, I would be officially his property and he wouldn’t need to ask permission to give me the bite. We planned to wait a few weeks and then have him ‘bite’ me and make me part of his pack.” 

Stiles thought back over the past few weeks, about all that had happened since he heard the news that Scott had been caught inside the Hale territory. 

“I screwed up your plan, didn’t I?” he said. When Stiles had come looking for Scott, trying to find out what had really happened, he’d actually trespassed. After taking one teenager as a slave very publically, Derek couldn’t ignore a second without it looking strange. 

"The plan will still work as far as I'm concerned," Scott said. "Soon, Derek will say that he offered me the bite and I accepted and then I’ll be part of the pack. The problem will be what to do about you.” 

The solution would be for Stiles to accept the bite, but he wasn’t sure he was up for that. Scott didn’t suggest it out loud. 

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Stiles asked. 

“I saw how scared you were of Derek when you were first caught. I didn’t want you to be scared of me.” 

“I could never be scared of you, Scott. I bet I could still kick your little werewolf butt.” 

“You wish,” Scott grinned. For a moment, things felt normal between them, like there had been before all this madness. 

There came a tap on the door. Kelly opened it and wheeled in a trolley bearing soup and a bread selection. Stiles stood to help unload the trolley’s contents onto the table. Kelly saw him and gave a nervous smile. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. Her eyes fell to the line of white showing below the sleeve of his t-shirt. She reached out a hand towards it. 

Stiles stepped back to avoid her touch. 

Her face went ashen, apart from a trace of embarrassed pink that touched her cheeks. She withdrew her hand as quickly as if she’d been burned and then she fumbled with the contents of the trolley, avoiding Stiles’ eye. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

“You’ve not done anything wrong,” Stiles said, “but it’s probably best if you stay away from me.” 

“I could talk to him,” she said, “and say you didn’t do anything.” 

“I don’t think that would help.” 

The food was all on the table now. Kelly didn’t have any reason to stay any longer. She looked like she might have said something else, then she turned and wheeled the trolley out the door. Scott was standing by the table, staring at Stiles, his expression the same confusion as when he tried to solve a difficult equation in class. 

“What the hell happened between you and Derek?” he asked. 

Stiles helped himself to some soup, trying to think about how best to explain everything. 

“I wanted to give Derek a nice lunch,” Stiles said, “so I went to the kitchens and Kelly helped me put something together. Then when he went to Derek, he said I smelled of her. He accused me of wanting her and he got all... possessive.” 

"Possessive?" Scott echoed. 

“Yeah, possessive. Jealous. Angry. Scary.” 

“Did he do anything?” Scott asked. “Did he hurt you?” 

“He growled and loomed,” Stiles said, “and damn near gave me a heart attack, but he didn’t actually hurt me. I thought he might though. I thought he was actually going to hurt me.” 

He rubbed at the bandage on his arm, at the marks Erica had left in his flesh. Erica had actually hurt him but she still hadn’t managed to be as scary as Derek. 

Stiles pulled his hand away and focused on the soup, swallowing hot mouthfuls in the hope that he’d feel better for having some sustenance in him. He was still feeling somewhat shaky and some of that was probably due to the missed lunch. Scott didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at him over the soup bowls. When the bowls were empty, there was little excuse left for silence. Stiles sat there, picking apart a piece of bread without really eating it. 

“Derek said he wanted to apologise,” Scott said at last. He said it in a neutral tone, not pushing Stiles towards accepting said apology. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles said. “He’s sorry now, but what happens the next time someone looks at me and he gets jealous? I can’t trust him not to act like this again.” 

Stiles knew that every word he was saying was true. He meant them all. But he couldn’t stop the feeling of regret that settled into the pit of his stomach. He wanted Derek. He’d acknowledge it now and it wouldn’t be easy to shove those thoughts back into his subconscious, but any sort of relationship needed more than just desire. He couldn’t trust Derek. If they actually acted on their desire, it would just make any more potential jealous fits all the worse. 

He couldn’t take back the words he’d spoken in the study, but he could make it clear that those words didn’t matter. Nothing would change. They’d continue their act for the sake of Derek’s plans until Derek could find a way to let Stiles go. Stiles would just have to cope with wanting Derek and knowing that nothing could ever happen. 

"Are you alright?" Scott asked. 

Stiles forced a smile onto his face, “Do go getting all mushy on me. I’m fine.” 

Scott nodded, but it was clear from his eyes that he didn’t believe that for an instant. 

Stiles glanced at the clock, wondering what had happened to the afternoon. Between the panic attack, the mess with Erica and this hideously awkward conversation, it seemed that hours had just vanished. His dad would be finishing up in the gardens soon. He brushed crumbs from his fingers and got to his feet. 

“I’m going to go see my dad,” he said. 

“And this has nothing to do with you avoiding Derek?” 

"I can multi-task.” 

Stiles grabbed his sandals and headed downstairs, taking a roundabout route that avoided any possibility of accidentally bumping into Derek. When he got outside, the afternoon was slipping towards evening with the garden staff wrapping up for the day. He crunched along the paths until he found his dad, carrying various tools back towards the storage sheds. Stiles lingered a little distance away while his dad dealt with the tools. 

When his dad came up to him, his eyes instantly fell to the line of white showing beneath Stiles’ sleeve. 

“What did that bastard do to you?” he demanded. 

“It wasn’t Derek,” Stiles said quickly. 

“Scott said something about an argument.” 

Stiles really wanted to avoid the rest of this conversation. His dad wasn’t going to let it go until he had some kind of answer and Stiles was extremely reluctant to discuss the subject of sexual attraction with his dad. So, as they walked slowly back towards the building, he decided to go for the shortest version he could get away with. 

“There’s a girl in the kitchens who’s nice to me,” Stiles said, “and Derek thought I was into her. He didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t.” 

“So he hurt you?” 

“No,” Stiles said. “I didn’t stick around long enough.” 

“You need to be careful, Stiles. Werewolves can be territorial. Especially alpha werewolves. If Derek Hale thinks he owns you, then even looking at another person could set him off.” 

“Thanks but I’d figured that out for myself.” A couple of days ago, Stiles would have reassured his dad that Derek wasn’t going to hurt him. Having seen his reaction today though, Stiles had no confidence in that. 

“I’m going to get you out of here,” his dad said. 

Stiles stopped in his tracks. 

“No. No. No. Don’t talk about that. Don’t even think about that. There is no possible scenario where what you’re thinking about ends up good for us.” 

His dad spoke quietly, even though there was no one in sight, afraid to even whisper these things within view of the werewolf compound. But whisper them he did. 

“I’m not leaving you here to be used and mauled by werewolves.” 

“No. If you break me out of here, there’s nowhere we could go. Everyone knows I’ve been made a slave so we’d have to go on the run. If Derek caught us, it would all be public and visible and he’d have to make an example of us. If another werewolf caught us, it could be even worse because under werewolf law we’d be fair game. There is no possible way that this would end well.” 

“A slim chance of freedom is better than the certainty of slavery if you stay here,” his dad said. 

“Dad, listen to me, please. Derek will let me go eventually. In the meantime, I’m better off here than I would be in any other werewolf compound in the country. Just accept this for now. It’s only for a little while.” 

“You can’t expect me to trust that monster to just let you go.” 

“You have to,” Stiles said. They both did.


	11. Chapter 11

Derek got through the meetings with the pride of his pack intact. As expected, the mayor had wanted to get Derek to agree to take less money. Derek had refused to yield on that point, but he had mentioned that he was sending his pack members to the local school and he wanted to make sure they had the best education. So the Hale pack would make a significant donation to the Beacon Hill schools that was utterly unrelated to the requests for budget adjustments. The mayor had been happy that the money was being funnelled so directly back into the town and Derek hadn’t had to lose ground in negotiations. 

Then there was a formal dinner in the dining room, with an official photographer snapping pictures of the mayor and the alpha werewolf making small talk. Then there were more photos of them shaking hands. Derek was about ready to break the photographer’s camera over his head but then the ordeal was over with. 

Derek headed up to the suite, hoping that Scott had found Stiles. The instant he opened the door, he was hit by the smell of blood. Stiles’ blood. He wasn’t sure how he knew but he knew. 

Terror surged up through Derek’s entire being as he hurried over to the source of the smell, a shirt crumpled into the trash. 

“Stiles?” he called out, near panicking. 

“He’s alright.” 

Scott was there. Derek hadn’t even seen him. He hadn’t seen anything but the blood. 

“What happened?” Derek demanded. “Where’s Stiles?” 

“He’s with his dad.” And Scott gave a quick summary of what had happened that afternoon, of how he had found Erica with Stiles. Derek felt his claws lengthening unbidden and he got Scott to tell him every detail that he’d witnessed. 

Stiles bleeding. Stiles hurt. Stiles afraid. Stiles threatened like that so soon after their argument, it wasn’t acceptable. He waited until he was sure there was nothing else for Scott to say, then Derek stalked out of the suite and towards the room that had been given to Erica. 

He flung the door open. No knocking. No politeness. Erica was on her feet at Derek’s entrance but she didn’t have time to react before Derek grabbed hold of her and shoved her up against the far wall. His claws were out but he didn’t pierce her skin. Yet. 

“I’m sorry,” Erica said quickly. 

Derek didn’t loosen his grip, “You’re sorry?” 

“I won’t touch Stiles again if you don’t want me to.” 

“You shouldn’t have hurt him in the first place.” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she said. “I lost control of my claws.” 

Derek wanted to snarl at her, to rip her open for hurting Stiles, but he knew how difficult it could be when the power surged for the first time. Erica was new to all this, new to the gift. Anger could make the claws come out and Stiles was certainly infuriating at times. 

“It’s no excuse for trying to force yourself on him.” 

“I thought that was part of his job here. I misunderstood. I won’t go near your slave again.” 

Derek snarled and flung her aside. She hit the large bed, rolled over it and landed in a heap on the other side of the room. She scrambled to her feet, hands up in a gesture that was almost surrender. 

“You don’t even get why I’m angry, do you?” Derek demanded. 

Erica blinked, confused. “Then tell me.” 

“Stiles is a person. A human being. Like you were until recently. He deserves rights, deserves to be able to decide what does or doesn’t happen to him. He’s not a thing to be used, by you or anyone.” 

Erica looked even more confused, “But you made him your sex slave.” 

Derek was aware of the open door and the corridor beyond. He listened out in case anyone was around, in case the staff were cleaning nearby and might happen to overhear. But there was only one other heartbeat and that came with a scent of wolf. He shut the door anyway, hoping the gesture would show the seriousness of this. 

“Stiles is a slave here because he trespassed and because the laws wouldn’t leave me many options without losing face. He’s a slave in the eyes of the law but not in my eyes and not in his eyes.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

Derek waited a moment, wondering how much to tell her of all this. He barely knew her. He couldn’t be sure she was trustworthy. But she was pack now, with all that that entailed. He’d have to tell her everything eventually; it might as well be today. 

“The laws that govern werewolves and our interactions with humans are laid down by the Council of Alphas. This is a group of powerful alpha werewolves. Some of them believe that because we’re stronger than humans, more powerful, it means we’re superior. People like that are the ones who wrote the rules allowing us to enslave humans. I don’t think they’re right. I believe that us enslaving humans is as wrong as white people enslaving black people.” 

“Then why would you make Stiles your slave if you disagree with the whole system?” Erica asked. 

“I made him my slave because I disagree with the system. The problem is that the people with the power to change things are the ones with the most to benefit from it staying the same. If I were to go to the Council of Alphas and protest the laws, they wouldn’t listen and nothing would alter. The only way I’ll be able to make a difference is if I can get on the Council. They’ll only accept me onto the Council if they think I’m one of them.” 

“So you’re pretending you’re OK with slavery so that you can one day abolish it?” 

“Exactly. Stiles knows my plans. In public, he’ll act like my slave but don’t make the mistake of believing it. I won’t hurt him and I won’t force him to do anything he doesn’t want to do.” 

Derek said the words to Erica but he was hearing them himself, hearing the hypocrisy in his statements. Today, he hadn’t lived up to his words. Today, he’d acted like a master berating a slave, not as one person speaking to an equal. All his words meant nothing if he couldn’t live up to them himself. He’d heard Erica’s promise that the events of today wouldn’t be repeated but Derek made that same promise to himself inside his head. He wouldn’t make today’s mistake twice. 

“What happens now?” Erica said. 

“Publically, nothing. If people see the bandage, they will make assumptions that I punished him for some misdemeanour or that I got over-enthusiastic in bed. We’ll let the rumours fly.” 

“And privately?” she asked. 

Derek walked slowly around Erica’s bed towards her. He was calm now. The red hot anger of earlier had faded while he’d talked. He was perfectly in control when he reached her. He extended a hand and rested it on her arm, giving her a reassuring smile. 

Then his claws shot out. 

Erica gave a yelp and leapt back, red spots on her arms where Derek’s claws had punctured her skin. The marks showed. The blood dripped. But her skin was already healing. The injury would be gone before Derek even got back to his room. 

“A reminder,” he said. “Every day that Stiles is injured, I’ll give you another reminder. You won’t forget this conversation.” 

Neither of them would. 

Derek turned away and let himself out. In the corridor, he saw the owner of the other heartbeat he’d noticed earlier. Scott stood waiting. Derek walked past and Scott fell into step beside him. 

“You heard all that?” he said. 

“Yeah. Well, I wanted to see what you did to Erica.” 

“What did you think?” 

“As punishments go, it’s got a nice symmetry to it, I guess. I did half expect you to rip her into little pieces.” 

“I meant about what I said,” Derek said. 

“Oh,” Scott said. “I still think you’re nuts, but I’ll help you out any way I can.” 

“Do you think Stiles will still want to help me?” 

“That’s something you’ll have to ask him. He can be pretty stubborn.” 

They reached the suite and Scott ducked into the bathroom, getting ready for bed. Derek took one of the seats from the dining table and repositioned it so that he’d have a clear view of the door. He sat down and waited for Stiles to come back. 

He waited while Scott finished up in the bathroom and went into the little slave bedroom. He waited as the slow minutes ticked by. He waited until he began to wonder if Stiles planned on coming back tonight at all. 

Then he heard the soft pad of bare feet in the hallway outside. He saw the slow turn of the door handle as Stiles let himself in quietly, no doubt hoping not to disturb the sleep of those within. He looked a little surprised that the room was still lit up, then his eyes fell of Derek, sitting, waiting. 

Stiles jumped slightly but then attempted to compose himself. He walked past Derek towards the slave room. 

“Stiles, we need to talk.” 

“Pretty sure we don’t.” 

“Yes, we do.” 

Stiles opened the door to the little bedroom, walked inside and shut it firmly behind him. 

“I can still talk through the door,” Derek said. 

“Shush. You’ll wake Scott.” 

“Too late,” Scott’s voice added to the conversation. 

"Stiles, please will you come out here so we can talk properly." 

It would be the easiest thing in the world to just open the door but Derek knew he couldn’t do that. He’d told Stiles that the little room would be private, at least private as physically possible given that it was shared with Scott. He’d told them both that that room was their space. He couldn’t go in unless Stiles invited him, not without violating that promise. Derek had done enough of that today. 

“Stiles,” Derek said again, but there was silence on the other side of the door. Derek felt his anger rising again, his frustration at Stiles’ stubbornness. 

“Damn it,” he snarled, “why won’t you let me apologise to you?” 

Stiles flung the door open and snarled back with a ferocity that would have made a werewolf proud. 

“Because you acted like a master today,” Stiles said. “Because you acted like you owned me and like you had the right to say who I should or shouldn’t talk to. You told me that you weren’t going make me a slave but today it seemed like you changed your mind. Is that what you want? Do you want to claim what the world already thinks you’ve taken? Maybe you should stop pretending to be nice and just take what the law says is yours.” 

Stiles dropped to his knees in front of Derek, glaring up at him, angry and defiant. Derek had pictured him almost like this in a fantasy but seeing the reality made him feel sick. 

“Get up, Stiles,” Derek snarled, angry at Stiles and angry at the gesture which emphasised everything that was wrong about their situation. 

“Yes, master,” Stiles growled out, getting to his feet. 

“That’s not... I didn’t mean... Damn it, I just want to apologise!” 

“But it has to be on your terms when you want to do it,” Stiles snapped. “I said I didn’t want to talk but you wanted to, so we’re talking. You don’t even see it, do you? You’re so used to just snapping orders and having them obeyed. You said when we got into this that I’d still get to make my own choices but it seems that only works as long as the choices are ones you agree with. I chose not to talk to you tonight and look how well that’s working out.” 

Stiles had to pause for breath. It seemed he’d barely taken a breath through that whole rant. Derek was getting angrier by the second but part of that was because he knew Stiles had a point. If anything he’d said to Erica meant anything, he had to let Stiles make choices, even when he disagreed with them. 

“So what do you want from me?” Derek asked. 

“I want you to live up to your promises,” Stiles said. “I want you to let me make my own decisions as a free person. You’re not allowed to criticise who I talk to or order me about. I’ll still play the part in public but in here, if I say I do or don’t want to do something, you listen.” 

“OK,” Derek said. “I won’t give orders. You get to make your own choices.” 

“Good,” Stiles said. “Then my choice is not to talk to you.” 

He stepped back inside the little bedroom and slammed the door shut. 

Derek’s first instinct was to argue, to point out that avoiding each other wouldn’t solve anything. But if he tried to undo Stiles’ decision, he’d just do everything he’d said he wouldn’t do. Stiles was being ridiculously stubborn and now Derek felt like he was screwed whatever he did. If he tried to talk to Stiles against his wishes, it would prove him a hypocrite in Stiles’ eyes. If he walked away, he’d lose any chance to apologise properly, to put things right between them. He wanted to make things right, but he couldn’t see a way to do that. 

In the end, he knew he had to let Stiles make the choice, even if he hated it, even if he thought Stiles was being childish and stubborn. 

“It’s your choice,” Derek said, through the door. “But I’ll be here if you change your mind.” 

Only silence answered. 

Derek stood by the door for a long while, hoping that this was just a test and that Stiles would come out smiling and ready to forgive. Derek waited until the sound of breathing on the other side of the door steadied down into sleep. 

Then he turned and walked into his own bedroom. 

As he lay in his ridiculously huge bed, Derek had never felt more alone. Stiles was so close, only a room away, but Derek didn’t dare reach out to him because doing so might drive him away completely. Maybe he’d already done that. 

He could hardly believe how one little mistake could mess everything up so completely. Now things might be over forever between him and Stiles, over before they could even begin. 

Derek closed his eyes and listened, picking out the faint sound of breathing from beyond the wall. He tried to imagine that Stiles was lying in the bed beside him, but that fantasy just seemed to make the bed seem emptier. 

When Derek finally slipped into sleep, his cheeks were damp with silent tears.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles half-expected to find Derek lurking outside the bedroom door, ready to ambush him as he came out. But the suite was dark and quiet. Stiles let himself into the bathroom to shower and dress. When he came out, Derek was at the dining table starting on breakfast. He looked towards Stiles but only briefly. He said nothing. 

Derek’s face was a blank mask but Stiles was getting used to seeing a blank look on Derek’s face and was getting better at identifying them. He didn’t think Derek was angry. A bit of the anger usually showed through in his eyes no matter how good his poker face. The hand that clutched the fork was clenched tight, knuckles white, but even that didn’t make him look angry. Derek ate in slow mouthfuls, carefully controlled. He didn’t look back towards Stiles. 

The silence was painful and Stiles had never been very good at silence. The whole atmosphere in the room seemed like it was charged with tension. He couldn’t sit here and eat breakfast like this. 

“I’m going to take some of this to my dad and have breakfast with him,” Stiles said. He was careful not to make it sound like he was asking permission. Derek gave the tiniest of nods in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything. The grip on his fork tightened even more. 

Stiles started loading food onto one of the plates, going for scrambled eggs and tomatoes and other things that wouldn’t do his dad any harm. He allowed one slice on bacon, thinking they could split it between them. All the while, Derek said nothing. Stiles knew he’d said he didn’t want to talk but this not talking was far, far worse. 

“What should I tell him about his work for today?” Stiles asked. 

“General cleaning,” Derek said. He gave the details as succinctly as possible, still not looking at Stiles. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said when Derek finished. Then he carried the food and a spare plate out of the room, walking quickly so it didn’t get cold. 

His dad was up and dressed. They sat together on the edge of the bed to eat, his dad complaining that Stiles hadn’t brought any sausages with him. Stiles responded as he usually did, pestering his dad about eating right. It felt normal and yet at the same time strained. 

Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about Derek, sitting silently at the table. Stiles had said he didn’t want to talk. It looked like Derek had listened. 

“Are you alright?” his dad asked. 

“Yeah, I guess. I had an argument with Derek last night. Well, less of an argument and more of me yelling at him.” 

His dad looked suddenly scared, “Are you OK? Did he hurt you? Is he angry?” 

“I don’t think he’s angry. I think he’s upset.” 

“Upset?” his dad looked shocked, as though the concept of an upset werewolf didn’t fit into his world. Stiles knew how he felt. He’d expected Derek to be angry and moody, but what he’d seen at the breakfast table was something else entirely. 

“He was trying to apologise to me and I wouldn’t let him. I was really harsh with him.” 

"You're seriously telling me that you yelled at an alpha werewolf?" 

“Yeah.” 

“And you’re more worried about the fact that you might have hurt his feelings than the fact that he could have you whipped for being disrespectful?” 

Stiles hadn’t thought of it that way but it was true. He hadn’t been worried about being punished. Even when he was at his most intimidating, Derek hadn’t actually hurt him. In fact, he’d done exactly what Stiles had asked him to do. 

The food was done with, so Stiles stood, changing the subject rapidly. 

“We should get going,” he said. “You have work to do.” 

And he had thinking to do. He showed his dad where to go and then settled in for a morning of Derek-avoidance. He went to the large lounge, which was currently empty, and curled up in a window seat over-looking the gardens. He stared out through the glass and tried not to picture Derek’s blank-eyed look. 

He tried to think about things rationally and not just as someone who’d been scared by someone he’d sort of nearly trusted. He tried to think about the facts. 

Fact: Derek hadn’t ever actually hurt him. Fact: Derek had been trying to apologise for getting jealous yesterday. Fact: Derek had respected his choice about not wanting to talk. 

Stiles wanted to believe in those things, but there was another fact that wouldn’t leave his thoughts. Fact: Derek had lost his temper and been deliberately intimidating. Stiles had written a paper on abusive relationships for psychology homework at school. At the heart of them was an imbalance of power. The abuser would seem nice to start with, luring the victim in. Only later, would the abuse start, usually in small ways. Like intimidation. 

Yesterday might be a one off. It could be that Derek had made a mistake and was genuinely sorry and that it would never happen again. Or it could be a taste of things yet to come. Stiles didn’t know. And if he didn’t know, he couldn’t trust. And if he couldn’t trust, they didn’t have anything. 

“Here you are.” The lounge door opened and Isaac walked in, crossing the room to Stiles. He grinned, “So, today’s rumour has it that Derek caught you making out with one of the kitchen staff and he clawed you so badly that you passed out from blood loss.” 

“You shouldn’t listen to rumours,” Stiles said. 

“But they’re so much fun. So what really happened?” 

Stiles wasn't sure he wanted to explain the messed up situation with Derek. He wasn't sure enough about it inside his own head to try and put it into words. So he went for the short version of the confrontation with Erica. 

“Erica came on to me. I said no. She didn’t like it.” He gestured at the bandage that was still visible on his arm. 

“Erica made a pass at you?” 

“Yep.” 

“And you said no?” Isaac looked at him like he was nuts. “What are you, a monk? She is all kinds of hot and you said no.” 

“I wasn’t interested.” 

“Meaning you’re too busy drooling over Derek to even notice a hot chick throwing herself at you?” 

“I do not drool over Derek.” 

"Yeah, you do.” Isaac grinned. 

Stiles just glared at him in response. Isaac laughed. 

“Scott and I were planning on doing some shopping for back-to-school supplies,” Isaac changed the subject. “Want to come? The compound’s paying.” 

Stiles didn’t even hesitate in accepting. After all, it would be easier to avoid Derek if he wasn’t in the same building. They grabbed Scott and headed out, with Isaac driving Derek’s personal car, a sleek black number that made Stiles’ old jeep look like a pile of junk. Scott didn’t ask about Derek. Stiles could hear him not asking about Derek. 

Their first stop was clothes shopping and Stiles made it a point to get some more long-sleeved shirts so he wouldn’t have to explain bandages or claw marks to people at school. He also got some new sneakers, since he didn’t plan on going barefoot around school. Scott and Isaac picked out some stuff for themselves and then Isaac headed over to the cashier to pay. She looked at his credit card with a doubtful expression. 

"I'm going to need to see some ID with that,” she said. 

Isaac leaned over the counter and smiled, teeth lengthening into fangs. His eyes shone yellow. 

“Will this do?” he asked. 

The cashier leaned backwards, talking frantically, “Of course, sir. Sorry, sir. I’ll put that through right away, sir.” 

Her hands were shaking slightly as she fumbled with the cash register. 

Isaac shifted back to normal, “Relax. I’m not going to hurt someone for asking for ID.” 

The nervous woman panicked through the rest of the transaction, sirring every other word. Stiles hadn’t been out in public with a werewolf before. He hadn’t anticipated this reaction and he got the feeling that Isaac hadn’t either. Isaac had done something that wouldn’t have caused a second glance inside the compound, but out here people weren’t used to dealing with werewolves on a daily basis. It felt really uncomfortable to see someone so nervous over nothing. Stiles wanted to yell at her not to be so scared, despite knowing it would be counter-productive. 

He was also aware of the irony. He could easily picture himself as the frantic and worried cashier, frightened by a misguided gesture from Derek. 

They left the shop pretty quickly. They dumped their purchases in Derek’s car and then went on to the next shop. Isaac wanted a new jacket and so they stopped into a leather specialist shop. 

“Is there some werewolf dress code that says you all have to wear lots of black leather?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s one of the rules that we have to look badass at all times,” Isaac said, checking out another jacket in the mirror. “Why don’t you try something on?” 

He gestured towards a long leather coat. 

“I’m not sure I can pull off a badass Matrix coat,” Stiles said. 

“No, you usually only manage the ass part,” Scott said. Stiles hit him round the head. Scott was trying on leather coats and also making Stiles feel significantly out-bad-assed. 

Stiles left them to it and wandered deeper into the shop. He walked past racks of purses and bags, shelves of shoes and a large selection of biker leathers. Stiles wasn’t really paying attention to anything, until he passed through a small opening into a little room at the back of the shop. He stopped walking. He stared. 

He hurried out of that back room, feeling himself turning crimson. 

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked, seeing Stiles rushing back to the coats section. 

“This shop’s got some interesting merchandise,” he said. The two of them abandoned the coats in favour of indulging their curiosity. They walked quickly towards that little back room and stared around at the items displayed on the shelves. 

“Wow,” said Scott. 

“Wow,” Isaac echoed. 

This particular section of the shop dealt with the more recreational use of leather. There were restraints and paddles, masks and whips, weird items of clothing and some things that Stiles couldn’t identify and didn’t care to. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Isaac said, “do you think Derek would find a good use for this?” 

He picked up something from one of the shelves. It was a gag, a large ball of rubber attached to a leather strap. More than once, Derek had jokingly threatened to gag Stiles when he started babbling, but Stiles wasn’t in the mood for jokes like that today. Things were screwed up enough with Derek that he didn’t want to even think about anything that would push their already strained relationship further out of balance. 

Stiles walked out of the shop. 

“Stiles, it was a joke,” Isaac called after him. 

Stiles found a bench a little way down the street and waited there. Scott joined him almost at once. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

Stiles shrugged, “I don’t know what to do about Derek.” 

"Haven't we already had this conversation once?" Scott asked. 

“Probably. Doesn’t mean I’ve figured anything out.” 

“What do you want to happen with him?” 

“I don’t know. I know what I don’t want.” 

“OK. Start with that,” Scott said. 

Stiles thought about it, listing things slowly while Scott nodded along, “I don’t want him to be the alpha. I don’t want him to push me around or overrule me. I don’t want to be scared. I don’t want to be used. I don’t want to be just a sex toy to be used until he gets bored.” 

Scott was managing to look sympathetic and amused at the same time, “You want something serious. You want a relationship.” 

Stiles considered that for a moment. He knew he was attracted to Derek, there was no doubt in his mind about that now, but it wasn’t enough for it to be just a physical thing. If it was just about physical attraction, he never would have refused Erica. He needed to be respected. 

“I guess I do,” he said. “Not that that’s ever going to happen with Derek. Even putting aside the politics of the fact that he’s an alpha and I’m a slave, he’s not going to be interested in... I don’t know... dating me.” 

“Have you asked him?” 

Stiles brain seemed to stall slightly at that question. 

“No,” he said at last. 

“You should ask him.” 

That seemed to be the end of the conversation and Isaac chose that exact moment to walk out of the shop wearing his new leather jacket. The timing couldn’t have been a coincidence. He’d probably been lurking inside the doorway eavesdropping. At least he had the tact to pretend otherwise.


	13. Chapter 13

When they got back to the compound, Stiles were nervous about another confrontation with Derek. He’d spent the journey home rehearsing possible conversations. He tried imagining ones with mutual declarations of love but then his brain rebelled and instead he imagined Derek laughing in his face and asking why he’d be interested in a relationship with Stiles. Stiles was still in a nervous world of his own thoughts when he walked into the compound but he was still aware enough to notice that the security guys were glaring at him. 

Isaac cleared his throat and glanced down. 

Stiles looked down. He was wearing his new sneakers. Scott had paused in the doorway of the compound to take his shoes off, but Stiles had been too distracted. He stopped now and kicked off the shoes, trying to cover up the mistake. 

“Sorry, sir,” he said to Isaac. “I forgot, sir.” 

Isaac nodded, “I don’t think we need to tell Derek about this little slip up.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Stiles said, putting on the full act of subservience for the sake of the security guys. And partly because Isaac was obviously struggling to keep a straight face. Isaac walked away. Stiles grabbed his shoes and hurried after him, clutching at his other purchases. Around the corner, out of sight of the security staff, Isaac turned to him with a look that was part amusement and part glare. 

“You being respectful makes me feel like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone,” Isaac said. 

“I can be respectful,” Stiles said. Scott gave a very disrespectful snort at that. Stiles turned to glare at him and then shoved his bags of stuff into Scott’s arms, balancing the sneakers on top. Scott had werewolf strength; he could cope with that. 

“I’m going to talk to Derek,” Stiles said. 

“Good luck,” Isaac said and winked. Scott smothered a laugh. 

“I hate you,” Stiles told them both. 

He walked away and left them, heading towards Derek's study. Stiles hesitated outside, his heart racing. He stood there a moment, trying to force himself to be calm, reminding himself to stick to his resolve. Derek was all kinds of hot but that didn’t mean Stiles was going to give in to him. Stiles had been working out his demands on the car ride back and he would make sure he got them. 

He raised a fist and rapped gently on the door. 

“Come in,” Derek called. He sounded grumpy, but that didn’t mean anything. Derek always sounded grumpy. 

Stiles pushed the door open and slipped inside. There was a moment before the blank mask came down when Stiles could read a rush of emotions across Derek’s face: surprise, confusion, hope and fear. 

“Is this a good time?” Stiles asked. 

Derek didn’t even hesitate, “Of course.” 

He shoved aside an open folder he’d been reading through. Stiles let himself into the room and shut the door behind him. He sat down in the chair across the desk from Derek’s and tried to portray a sense of calm, even though Derek could probably hear the frantic pounding of his heart. Derek just sat there waiting and Stiles realised that he was probably still trying to stick to Stiles’ request about not talking. It was both disconcerting and thrilling to realise that he’d effectively given an order to an alpha werewolf and had it obeyed. 

Stiles took a breath, “You said we needed to talk and you’re probably right but we’re going to do this on my terms. There are things I need to say and you’re going to let me say them or I’m walking out of here and the only interaction we’ll ever have is the public show. Got it?” 

Derek gave a slow nod. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there waiting for Stiles to speak. Again, Stiles felt a strange thrill at the fact that he was bossing Derek around. He pictured what those security guys would say if they could see this and he had to suppress the urge to laugh. He had important things to deal with first. 

“Yesterday was unacceptable,” Stiles said. “You had no call to be jealous; all I’ve ever done is talk to Kelly. Even if I was interested in her, which, for the record, I’m not, it would still have been unacceptable. You don’t own me. You don’t get to decide who I talk to. You don’t get to shove me around. If you want me to have any respect for you in the future, you will have to respect me. Understood?” 

Another slow nod from Derek. 

“I realise I was rude last night,” Stiles said, “and I wasn’t all that respectful. I said some things that were mean and probably unfair. You’ve apologised for what you did so I’ll apologise for that.” 

Derek looked like he was about to say something, but then he kept quiet, letting Stiles finish saying his piece.

“We have to figure out what happens next,” Stiles went on. “And I do mean we. I think there’s been enough sneaking around and making assumptions. We need to be absolutely honest here and now about where we stand.” 

“Can I talk now?” Derek asked. 

Now it was Stiles’ turn to nod, still amused that he could be a situation where he could give an ultimatum to a werewolf. 

“I am sorry for yesterday,” Derek said. “I was jealous. I had no right.” 

“Damn right,” Stiles muttered. Derek gave a half-hearted glare. “Sorry, go on.” 

“I’m interested in you, Stiles. I didn’t say anything because you showed no sign of interest in me and I didn’t want to scare you.” 

“Great job with that,” Stiles snorted. “Stellar. Your plan of not scaring me by wolfing out and shoving me around was impeccably thought through.” 

Derek glared again, “If you want honesty from me then _honestly_ you need to shut up.” 

Stiles shut up. 

“I want you, Stiles. Physically.” 

“Just physically?” 

"What do you mean?” 

“Is that it?” 

Derek still looked puzzled. 

"Are you after some sort of friends-with-benefits thing? Is this about getting rid of some sexual frustration and then we carry on like nothing’s changed? Is it about playing up the sex slave thing so your status looks better? Is it just to satisfy your curiosity? Is it just to tide you over until you find some sexy werewolf to screw? Are you just bored?” 

The questions poured out of Stiles but he didn’t dare ask the question he wanted to. He didn’t dare ask if there were real feelings there. He was too afraid that the answer would be no. 

Derek just stared at Stiles, his expression unreadable. He didn’t seem about to jump in and give an answer. After Stiles ran out of questions and there was still no answer, he felt a knot of grief down in his stomach. He’d expected this. He’d known Derek wasn’t really interested in him. Still, it hurt to have those fears confirmed. 

“Forget it,” Stiles said. He got to his feet and started for the door. 

Derek leapt up, vaulting over the desk. He grabbed Stiles’ arm and spun him round before he could reach the door. The grip was not tight, but it was firm and it was as unmoving as a metal clamp. 

“Hey!” Stiles protested. “We just said no shoving me around.” 

Derek snapped his hand away but he didn’t move back. He still stood in front of Stiles, looming close, well inside normal personal space. Stiles could almost feel the body heat radiating off him. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “It’s just... don’t go. Please.” 

Stiles was inches away from Derek’s face, staring straight at Derek’s eyes. There was desperation there. There was fear. 

“What do you want?” Stiles asked. 

“I want you to stop being scared of me,” Derek said. “I want you to be relaxed around me, like you were at the pack dinner. I want to watch that stupid insect show with you.” 

“Did you just dis Firefly?” Stiles asked. “Because that’s unac-“ 

Derek cut him off, “I want you spread out under me on my bed while I render you so incoherent with pleasure that even you can’t form a sentence.” 

Stiles shuddered at that mental image. Derek was leaning closer. Every word brought warm breath over Stiles’ face. They were so close to touching that the air seemed to be charged between them. 

“I want you in my life, Stiles.” 

It was Stiles who finally closed the distance. He brought his mouth to Derek’s. The kiss was hot and desperate, with all the frustrations of the last few days poured out in passion. Stiles brought his hand up Derek’s back and felt Derek’s hands return the gesture, pulling them together, pressing them close. Derek’s body was warm against him, all firm muscle and heat. 

Stiles had to pull back just to come up for air. He was flushed and needy, his heart racing for a completely different reason now. There was an unfamiliar smile on Derek’s face. 

“If we’re going to do this,” Stiles said, “we have to be equal partners in this. It can’t be a master and slave thing.” 

The smile faltered on Derek’s face and his eyes suddenly flicked away from Stiles’ gaze. 

“What?” Stiles asked, suddenly afraid again. He was afraid that he’d just said something that would cause all this to stop in its tracks. Even more afraid that the hope that had just been building was about to be squashed. Derek hadn’t actually said he wanted a relationship. 

“In the spirit of being open and honest,” Derek said, “and not wanting to scare you or pressure you or anything...” 

Derek started to step back. This time it was Stiles who had hands on his arms, holding him in place. 

“What?” Stiles asked. 

"I have fantasies,” Derek said. 

Stiles blinked, surprised. He’d never imagined himself being fantasy material for anyone. 

“About me?” 

“Yes.” 

“What kind of fantasies?” Stiles asked. Derek still wasn’t meeting his eyes. 

“You,” Derek said, “tied up on my bed so I can do anything to you. You, wearing your collar, all fire and defiance but also all mine.” He hurried to say, “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you and I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.” The look of fear was back on Derek’s face mingled with pained resignation, as though he expected Stiles to run from the study and never see him again. 

"So the big tough alpha has a bondage kink," Stiles muttered, his mouth working because his brain had apparently stalled. 

"Does that scare you?" Derek asked. 

Stiles’ heart was racing still, but that had a lot to do with the fact that Derek was still standing right in front of him and the fact that they were talking about sexual fantasies. 

“Maybe a little,” Stiles admitted. 

Derek shook off Stiles’ hands and turned away, “This won’t work if you don’t trust me.” 

Stiles felt almost guilty for feeling scared, because he knew that Derek had had plenty of opportunity to hurt him or force him if that had been his plan. He could easily have taken advantage of the public act if he’d wanted to. But this was one hell of a big thing to not be scared of. Derek was more powerful than him, physically and politically. What he was talking about went way beyond that. 

"Would you trust me with that?" Stiles asked. 

Derek moved with startling speed, looming in front of him again, his eyes filled with anger and something else harder to identify. 

“Don’t say things you’re not prepared to back up,” Derek snarled. 

“Would you trust me though?” Stiles asked. “To tie you up? To do whatever I wanted to you?” 

A low noise emerged from Derek’s throat, a sound that was almost a growl. Stiles felt another hot thrill run through him. He thought about how it had felt to realise that Derek was following his instructions and his mind furnished him with new images, perhaps brought on by the sight of some of the stuff in that shop. 

It would certainly solve the issue of power imbalance, he thought. If he was thinking at all. It was quite possible his brain had stopped working again because his mouth was saying things no sensible person could possibly say. 

“What if the collar was around your neck?” Stiles asked. “What if I was the one giving orders? Would you trust me enough to let me do what I wanted to you?” 

Derek moved a hair’s breadth closer and Stiles didn’t need to hear the answer. He could feel it, pressed against his pants, Derek’s hardness answer enough. Stiles found himself smiling, amusement mingling with desire. It seemed Derek’s bondage kink didn’t just go one way. 

"I trust you, Stiles,” Derek said.


	14. Chapter 14

A couple of cleaning staff practically dived out of Derek’s way as he strode along the corridors of the compound. They probably thought he was angry. He probably looked angry, walking so fast that Stiles was almost running to keep up. 

Derek knew he should calm down. He should slow down. He should take this walk to get himself under more control because if he scared off Stiles today, he’d probably scare him off forever. The wolf in him wanted to rip Stiles’ clothes off and claim him for the world to see. The human in him was terrified that if he hadn’t this wrong, this could be the last day Stiles ever spoke to him. For now, the human was winning. 

It was Stiles who’d suggested they move this to the suite. Derek was holding that thought as a beacon in his mind even as his doubts and fears assailed it from all sides. If he came on too strong, if he lost control of his animal instincts, this could be it. 

He reached the suite and let them both in, finding the rooms empty. The place smelled of Stiles. The lingered scent of his blood from yesterday just made the very air seem filled with Stiles. It was almost too much to bear. Derek forced himself to take a moment before he turned to look at Stiles. There was a nervous expression on Stiles’ face, only a step away from fear, and that was enough to throw cold water over the heat of Derek’s desire, at least for a moment. Derek kept himself from reaching out and taking hold of Stiles. 

“We’ll go as fast or as slow as you want,” Derek said, “and only as far as you want.” 

Stiles swallowed, still obviously nervous, “OK, but you may need to give me some pointers.” 

Derek’s heart gave a lurch, “You’ve never done this before with a guy?” 

“I’ve never done this before with anyone.” 

Derek was filled with excitement and fear in equal measure. Stiles was a virgin! But on the other hand _Stiles was a virgin!_ The thought of being the first person to lay hands on Stiles in this way was a heady aphrodisiac. Derek wanted to tear Stiles’ clothes off and screw him against the dining table, but it became even more imperative that he didn’t lose control of the animal side of his being. If Derek screwed this up, he could be ruining Stiles’ first sexual experience. 

Stiles was staring at him, looking nervous again, no doubt worried about Derek’s reaction. 

“Are you OK with that?” he asked. 

“If you’re OK with it,” Derek said, “I’ll call the shots this time but if I do anything you’re uncomfortable with, or that just isn’t working for you, you need to tell me.” 

All the nervousness was washed away by an expression that was pure Stiles. It was a look that said quite clearly that Derek was being an idiot. 

“When have you ever known me not to tell you my opinion?” Stiles asked. 

Derek laughed. A knot of tension diminished slightly. Of course Stiles would let him know in an instant if he went too far. They could make this work. 

Derek reached out a hand to cup the back of Stiles’ neck and leaned in for a kiss. He kept it gentle, tender. Now wasn’t the time to let the animal out. 

Stiles’s hands worked their way up Derek’s back, slipping under the fabric of his shirt. The light touches rubbed against his skin. Derek kept his own touches light, kept the wolf at bay. His fingers wove through Stiles’ soft hair. Their bodies pressed close and Derek was filled with the scent of Stiles, the scent of desire. It took every ounce of control Derek had to not take Stiles right here. 

“Are we going to stay here all day?” Stiles asked, when they finally broke the kiss. He glanced towards the door of Derek’s bedroom. Derek’s libido kicked up another gear. He lowered his arms, until one was around Stiles’ back, the other under his ass. Derek lifted and Stiles gave a laughing shriek and brought their lips together in another kiss. 

Derek carried Stiles through to the bedroom, kicking the door open and then lowering Stiles’ gently onto the edge of the bed. 

“Are you sure about this?” Derek asked. “We can wait.” 

“Speak for yourself.” 

Stiles yanked his t-shirt over his head. Derek looked at him, wondering why Stiles was so self-conscious about his body. Derek drank up the sight with his eyes, the smooth skin, the faint line of soft hair running down from his belly button, those dark nipples already hardening from arousal. As Derek stared, Stiles seemed to grow nervous again, hands coming across his chest as though in an attempt to hide. 

“I know I don’t have a six pack,” Stiles started, “but you don’t need to stare like that. If you want to turn the lights off or something, I don’t mind. I just...” 

Derek leaned down, mouth hovering just in front of Stiles’. 

“Shut up, Stiles,” he said, “I’m just admiring the view.” 

He close the distance with another kiss and then stepped back, lifting his own shirt over his head. Stiles visibly swallowed, staring at Derek’s exposed chest. Derek eased his flies open slowly, giving Stiles a clear view as he pushed his pants down and kicked off his shoes and socks. He left his boxers on for now, but Stiles still swallowed again. 

“Oh wow,” Stiles said. 

Derek reached for Stiles’ flies, pausing for a moment in case of objections. Then he eased them open. Stiles leaned back on his elbows on the bed and arched his hips so that Derek could ease the pants down his legs. The fabric puddled onto the floor at the foot of the bed. 

Stiles scooted up the bed, still propping himself up on his elbows as he lay on the covers. He was flushed with nerves and excitement. Derek took another moment to pause and drink in the sight, wanting to fix this image in his memory forever. Then he climbed onto the bed and slid up to lie beside Stiles. 

He still went slowly, with soft touches and softer kisses, but now they were exploring each other’s bodies. Fingers ghosted across skin. Derek kissed the side of Stiles’ neck, eliciting a faint groan. Stiles tilted his head back, exposing his neck for further kisses. 

Derek pushed himself up off the covers and worked his mouth down Stiles’ chest with licks and kisses, pausing at the nipples. As he flicked his tongue gently across one, a shudder ran down Stiles’ body. Derek grinned. 

“You like that?” he asked. Stiles made an unintelligible moan as answer. It seemed Derek had got his wish about rendering Stiles inarticulate. 

Derek gave the other nipple the same treatment and got another moan. A part of Derek wanted to just flip Stiles over and nail him into the bed. He was moaning so deliciously, his cheeks touched with a pink dash of desire. But he was also new at this. Nervous. There was enough human left in control inside Derek that he eased back up the bed to kiss Stiles on the lips again. They lay side by side on the bed, bodies pressed against each other. Derek could feel Stiles’ hardness pressed against his own crotch. 

Locked in kisses, Derek thrust his body against Stiles’. Stiles fell into a rhythm with him, moaning into the kisses. They worked together, the friction between their bodies driving them to their mutual end. Then Stiles pulled back with a shuddering groan, fighting back a cry. The sight of Stiles leaning his head back against the pillow in orgasm was enough to send Derek over the edge. They lay there a moment, still in their underwear, now sticky with each other. 

Derek leaned back against the pillows, wrapped an arm around Stiles and pulled him close. They lay there on the soft covers, Stiles’ head resting on Derek’s chest like a pillow. 

“That was... nice,” Stiles said in a sleepy voice. There was something hesitant about his tone and Derek had a sinking feeling that there was a _but_ coming. 

“But,” Stiles went on, “I was sort of expecting something more.” 

“I didn’t want to push too far too fast,” Derek said. He could have kicked himself for holding back. 

“I appreciated it, I do,” Stiles said, “but this whole trust thing we’re working on means that you should trust me when I say that I want to do something.” 

“Alright. Next time we go further. But you’re going to have to wait a bit. Even werewolves need recovery time.” 

Stiles chuckled against Derek’s chest, “You got it.” 

Derek breathed in the scent of Stiles’ sweat and seed, and he closed his eyes. 

***

When Derek woke, the world beyond the windows was growing darker and Stiles was still sleeping with his head pillowed on Derek’s chest. Derek strained his head round to try and get a look at the clock without moving too much. They’d slept for too long. 

“Stiles,” he said quietly. 

Stiles made a mumbling sound into Derek’s chest. 

“Stiles, you need to get up.” 

Stiles opened his eyes, blinking confusedly at Derek as he pulled out of his embrace. The expression on his face held traces of fear and hurt that Derek needed to erase. Derek gave him a quick kiss. 

“We fell asleep. Your dad’s going to think I’ve done something horrible to you if you don’t go see him.” 

Stiles pushed himself up enough to see the clock. He swore under his breath and then climbed from the bed, scrabbling around on the floor for his clothes. He looked at his body. 

“God, I need to shower,” he muttered. Then he hurried from the room. 

Derek didn’t hurry. He also didn’t shower. Right now, he smelled of Stiles. Completely. He changed his boxers, but pulled clean clothes on over skin that smelt of sex and Stiles. It probably wouldn’t take a werewolf’s senses to work out what he’d been doing this afternoon but he didn’t care. Maybe it was some wolf part of him that wanted to mark his territory for the world to know. Maybe it was simpler than that. Stiles had said yes to this, said yes to _him_ and he wanted to shout that from the rooftops. 

Unfortunately reality had its way of intruding and Derek had abandoned his work for this. He needed to get back to it. He left Stiles in the shower and headed back down to his study to get on with everything that went with being an alpha. 

He hadn’t even made it to his study door when he got the interruption. One of his staff came hurrying up. 

“Sir, we’ve been looking for you,” the man said. 

“What is it?” 

“You have a visitor.” 

Derek thought of the piles of paperwork and the deluge of emails that would no doubt have come in during his afternoon’s enjoyment with Stiles. 

“Is it important?” Derek asked. 

“She says she’s an emissary from Deucalion.”


	15. Chapter 15

Stiles grabbed some food from the kitchen and then took it up to the room his dad had been assigned. The expression of relief on his dad’s face when he saw Stiles walk in was enough to make Stiles feel guilty for being so late, shattering the pleasant glow that his afternoon with Derek had filled him with. 

“Are you alright?” his dad asked. 

“Please stop asking me that every five minutes,” Stiles complained. “I’m fine. Better than fine. Derek and I have sorted things out.” 

“Sorted things out?” 

Stiles hesitated, taking his time laying their dinner out on the dresser to avoid looking at his dad. He didn’t really feel like explaining to his dad that he and Derek were now sleeping together, partly because that was not a conversation he ever wanted to have with his dad but also because, given his status here, his dad probably wouldn’t see it as a good thing. 

“We talked things through,” Stiles said. “He apologised. I apologised. Everyone’s apologised up and now we’re good.” 

“You can just accept his apology for letting his wolves maul you?” 

“Derek didn’t let Erica do anything. That has nothing to do with it. Our argument was about trusting each other. We’ve started this new policy of being open and honest with each other.” 

“And you think that’s enough?” 

“We’ll find out.” 

Stiles made a point then of taking some of the food, hoping to signal the end of this particular avenue of conversation. He’d just brought up a selection of sandwiches, some salad sticks and some chicken skewer things that apparently needed eating up. He hadn’t wanted to stay long in the kitchen because spending time with Kelly would probably be a stupid idea, even with the new policy of trust. There was no dining furniture in this bedroom, so he just stood by the dresser to eat, painfully aware that his dad was still staring at him. 

“Stiles, I know you don’t want to take risks, but you can’t live like this.” 

Stiles turned back to his dad, "It seems that me and Derek aren't the only ones who need to work on trust. I keep telling you I’m fine. Derek is not going to make me do anything I don’t want to do.” If he’d had any doubts of that, they were gone now. This afternoon, Derek had been almost more nervous than Stiles, keen to make sure every step of the way that Stiles was happy with what was happening, refusing to push further just in case. 

His dad gave him another one of those looks which suggested he was questioning Stiles’ sanity. 

“You can’t really be happy with being a sex slave,” he said. 

“The slave part sucks,” Stiles said, and then wished that for once he’d actually think before opening his mouth. He rushed on, hoping his dad would somehow fail to notice the connotations of what he’d just said. “But he doesn’t treat me like a slave in private. This whole mess only came about because he was trying to fix something one of his pack screwed up and it’s not his fault that he kind of got stuck with having to make me a slave. And he’s only going along with it until it’s not political suicide for him to just let me go.” 

His dad was still giving him the sanity-questioning look. 

“Have you considered,” his dad said, “that he might just be telling you that he’ll let you go in order to make you cooperative? Has he given you any sort of guarantee? Or a timeframe?” 

“Of course I’ve considered that. I’m not an idiot.” He ignored his dad’s look. “I’m going to trust Derek. He’s not going to hurt me. But if you were to help me run away, we’d be caught and then Derek would have to punish both of us. Believe me, this is better.” 

His dad just sighed, “We’ll talk about this more when you come home.” 

Stiles shifted the topic of conversation. They must have discussed this about a hundred times and they weren’t going anywhere with it, so Stiles instead asked about his dad’s work here. 

“The jobs have been hard,” his dad said, “but in some ways it’s been a relief from the work I’m used to. It’s all manual labour, no thinking. It makes a nice change.” 

“Change?” 

“Cheeky!” But his dad managed a grin at that. 

“They haven’t been mean or worked you harder than was reasonable or anything?” 

“I thought I was the one supposed to be worrying about you.” 

“Come on, dad. Anything unpleasant happen?” 

“No. Everyone’s been very understanding.” 

“Except for Mrs Dales, I guess,” Stiles said. 

“Actually, she was very sympathetic.” 

Now it was Stiles’ turn to look at his dad like he’d gone nuts. Sympathetic was not a word he would usually associate with Mrs Dales. 

“She’s always so mean,” Stiles said. 

“She’s short with her staff but she’s got a big job to do and a lot of people to organise. She wasn’t all that bad.” 

“She’s scarier than Derek.” 

“Now you’re just over-reacting.” 

Stiles started to protest, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. His dad, as puzzled as he was, went to open it. Isaac was standing outside. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Isaac said, “but I need Stiles.” 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked. 

“Don’t know. Derek’s called a pack meeting. He’s says it’s important.” 

“OK, I’ll be right there.” 

Stiles grabbed one last sandwich and started for the door. His dad stepped in his way long enough to give him a quick hug and mutter in his ear, “He doesn’t treat you like a slave, huh?” 

Stiles pulled away, saying, loud enough that there could be no doubt Isaac would hear, “No. He treats me like pack.” 

Stiles followed Isaac outside and they walked at a fast pace along the hallways of the compound. 

“So what is going on?” Stiles asked. 

“Dunno. All I know is he wanted everyone to meet him and he seemed even more moody than usual. I figured he might mellow out a bit now that you two are finally doing it.” 

Stiles tripped over his feet and nearly face-planted on the ground. He found his footing again and had to run a few steps to catch up with Isaac. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles said. 

“Werewolf nose,” Isaac said. “We know what you were up to. Just tell me, who was on top?” 

“ _Excuse me!_ ” 

“Who was on top? You or Derek?” 

“In what universe is that any of your business?” Stiles demanded. 

“I have twenty bucks riding on this.” 

They’d reached the stairs and were heading up to the suite, Stiles getting a little out of breath having to keep up with a werewolf. Isaac paused when he reached the landing to look down and wait for him while Stiles hauled himself up by the banister. 

“You’re betting on me and Derek? With who?” 

“Cora.” 

Stiles didn’t know if he should be offended or angry at this invasion of privacy. His supposed friends were making bets on his love life which was just unacceptable. Still, there was a little bit of him that found it flattering that he was the centre of attention. 

“At least Scott stayed out of your bets,” Stiles said. 

“Oh, he was betting that you’d take at least another week to actually sleep together.” 

“I hate you all,” Stiles said. He finally reached the landing and shot Isaac a look that was part triumph and part glare, “So far, Scott’s winning.” 

Then Stiles walked past Isaac, who was staring in disbelief. 

“Seriously?” Isaac asked. “You two are hopeless.” 

They walked together along the corridor towards the suite, Stiles hoping he could finally get this awkward conversation behind him. Inside, Derek was standing by the dining table, papers and notes spread across its surface. He was leaning over it like a general surveying the field of battle. Scott, Cora and Erica were already there, standing around the table. 

“What’s this about?” Stiles asked. 

“If you brought us together to announce that you’re with Stiles,” Isaac said, “we figured it out before you did.” 

“This is not about Stiles,” Derek insisted. 

Isaac ploughed on regardless, “In fact, I’ve got a little present to celebrate you finally coming to your senses.” 

“We have more important things to worry about right now than Stiles!” Derek snapped. Then he seemed to catch himself and looked ashamed. He turned to Stiles and said a quiet, “Sorry, Stiles.” 

“No offense taken,” Stiles said. “I’d quite like Isaac to shut up too. What is going on?” 

“I received a message from Deucalion,” Derek said. “He’s coming to visit.” 

“Oh,” said Cora turning pale. “Oh. Oh crap.” 

“He’s the big scary super alpha right?” said Stiles. Derek nodded. “Then maybe this is good news. You want to get on the Council of Alphas. Maybe him coming here is a step towards that.” 

“I doubt it,” Derek said. “I’ve only been the alpha two months; it’s way too soon for him to consider me for the Council. It’s possible that he wants to get to know me to keep me in mind for the future, but it’s far more likely that this is the first step to a challenge.” 

Erica was looking seriously confused. No wonder. All this werewolf politics was new for her. 

“What happens if he challenges you?” she asked. 

"Best case scenario," Derek answered, “I die and you guys are left as packless omegas to get picked off by another pack. Or he might just cut out the middle man and kill us all. Except probably Stiles.” 

“Well, I guess that’s good news for me,” Stiles said. Cora caught his eye and shook her head, face still pale. It seemed she thought the slave of a defeated alpha was probably not going to end up facing a nice situation. 

“When’s he coming?” Isaac asked. 

“A week on Friday,” Derek said. “He’ll be here for the full moon.” 

Cora swore under her breath, then added, “He’s going to challenge you.” 

Erica was still looking confused, asking, “How can you be so sure?” 

Derek answered, “He’s given me a week and a half to prepare. A visit from another alpha is a big deal, and Deucalion is bigger still. These things are usually organised months in advance. The less time we have to prepare, the more chance there is that something will go wrong. He’s looking for an excuse to take offense and make an official challenge.” 

It was quite chilling to look at Derek and realise he was scared. His face wore the same blank mask as always, but there was tension in his whole body. Everyone in the room, even Erica, could see it too and a nervous silence fell around the table. 

It was Erica who broke the silence, “Is it possible you’re being a bit paranoid about this?” 

“I’ve met Deucalion twice,” Cora said. “Paranoid is the only sane way to be when dealing with him. So we need to make sure everything goes perfectly.” She grabbed a piece of paper and pen from the table and started scribbling as she talked. “If he’s coming for the full moon he’ll expect a moon feast. We’ll have to lay on food and entertainment and it will need to be outside somewhere; we can probably use the gardens. Then there’ll be an official exchange of gifts. And we should probably arrange some meetings with key people in Beacon Hills. Do you know how long he’ll be staying?” 

“The messenger didn’t say,” Derek answered. 

“Right. So we’ll organise meetings with the mayor and people like that on the Saturday and then have some other meetings tentatively booked over the next few days in case he stays longer. He’ll probably expect accommodation but that’s easily arranged. Do you know if he’ll be bringing anyone with him?” 

“The messenger didn’t say,” Derek repeated. Stiles could see why they thought this was a trap. Deucalion hadn’t given them enough information to prepare properly. 

“OK, so we’ll make sure we have some spare guest rooms ready just in case. And we need to make sure the kitchens are prepared for possible formal dinners on the days following the full moon. And we should probably have some sort of entertainment ready for other days as well.” 

She kept writing, coming up with more things they needed to think about, like which humans should be invited to the feast and whether they should do decorations. Derek listened to it all without saying anything until Cora ran out of points and paper to write them on. Then Derek looked up, straight at Scott. 

“You’re going to be a problem,” he said. 

“I am?” Scott looked a little hurt. 

“If we announce that you’ve become a werewolf, it will look like I’m responding to Deucalion’s visit. It will look like I feel threatened and I’m trying to shore up my pack, which would be bad. But if he finds out that you’re a werewolf in secret, that would be even worse.” 

“I thought the wolfsbane aftershave should disguise my scent so other werewolves won’t identify me.” 

Which explained the bottle in the bathroom that Derek had insisted was only for Scott. Stiles hadn’t considered it might be part of his disguise. 

“It should,” Derek said. “For anyone else, it would. But Deucalion has a phenomenal amount of power and he’s had years of practice relying on his senses. He might see through the disguise. You have to stay away from him. Make sure you’re never in the same room as him without at least one other werewolf present.” 

Scott nodded. Now he looked as scared as Derek. 

Derek looked round the table at the others, “We have to make sure we show a united front. We have to appear at all times to be a cohesive pack. No bickering, no questioning my authority, nothing. I have to appear an utterly unchallenged alpha or he will leap on any sign of weakness.” 

Stiles glanced at Scott, “And we have to be the perfect slaves.” 

Derek nodded, “Obedient and respectful at all times.” 

Derek’s gaze lingered on Stiles. Stiles resisted the urge to say something sarcastic about how they were all screwed if he was required to be respectful for an indefinite period of time. He had to do this. He had to play his part or they were all dead.


	16. Chapter 16

When Stiles got up the next morning, Derek was sitting at the dining table with papers spread out in front of him. Cora’s list was in the centre of it all, but it had now spawned an array of notes and scribbles and several other bits of paper clipped to it. 

“Did you actually go to bed?” Stiles asked. 

Derek looked at him in confusion, then looked at the clock, as though trying to work out what had happened to the night. 

“No,” Derek said at last. 

“Do you think you should?” 

“Werewolves can last longer than humans without sleep. Besides, I slept yesterday afternoon.” 

“I guess you did.” 

Stiles gave this up as a lost cause and placed the call to the kitchens for breakfast. He then headed into the shower. When he emerged, the food was carefully arranged in the gaps among the sprawl of papers. Derek appeared to be paying it no attention whatsoever, so Stiles filled up a plate for him. When Derek showed no sign that he’d spotted Stiles there, Stiles went for the direct approach and just put the plate down in front of Derek, covering up the notes he was currently working on. 

“I’m working, Stiles,” Derek growled. 

“Yes but you still need to eat.” 

“I don’t need a nanny.” 

“Clearly you do. Eat your breakfast and then tell me what I can do to help.” 

Derek started eating, devouring the food at such a pace that Stiles knew he must have been hungry. He wondered if Derek had eaten anything last night. Then he wondered if he’d spend the next week and a half making sure Derek ate and slept because it didn’t look like Derek would be paying attention to such things himself. 

“Tell your dad to join the cleaning staff,” Derek said, “and just help out where it’s needed. The public rooms and guest accommodation will need to be spotless.” 

“OK,” Stiles said. “And me?” 

Derek fished Cora’s list out from under his breakfast place and stared at it while he chewed forkfuls of sausage and bacon. 

“Gifts,” Derek said at last. “I will need to present Deucalion with gifts. Do some research on what other alphas have given as gifts before and work out something appropriate.” 

“No problem. I can do research. I’m the king of research. Erm... can I get an internet connection?” 

“Use the computer in my study. I need to talk to various members of staff this morning so I won’t be using it.” 

Derek had cleaned his plate now. List in hand, he started for the door. 

“You might want to shower first,” Stiles said. Derek hesitated then looked down at himself and seemed to realise that he smelled of yesterday’s sex. He turned around and headed for the bathroom. 

Stiles ate his breakfast quickly and then hurried to his dad’s room. His dad was already awake and ready for his day’s assignment. Again there was that look of relief when he saw Stiles. 

“What was yesterday’s emergency?” he asked. 

“A big important alpha is coming to visit,” Stiles answered. “This place is going to be madness preparing for it. You need to help clean everything.” 

“An alpha visit?” 

So Stiles gave the quick summary of Deucalion’s announcement. He left out the fact that this was almost certainly a prelude to a challenge just stressed that it was incredibly important that things went smoothly. 

“At least you won’t have to worry about the actual event,” his dad said, when Stiles finished. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re going to be home with me next week.” 

In all the chaos since last night, Stiles had almost forgotten that. According to the deal Derek had made, Stiles would be released into his dad’s custody for a week, starting Saturday evening. Stiles wouldn’t be here for the full moon, or for Deucalion’s visit. That ought to be a good thing. It meant he couldn’t do anything to embarrass Derek. But Stiles couldn’t help feeling that Derek might need him here. Going with his dad felt like abandoning him. 

“You do think he’ll hold up his end of the agreement?” his dad said. 

“He will. He’ll have to.” The discussion had been too public for Derek to have any other option. Still, the timing of it sucked. 

“We should get to work,” Stiles said. His dad gave him a surprised look. 

“Surely if Derek Hale is so busy, he won’t have any work for you?” 

“I’m researching presents.” 

"That doesn’t sound like the sort of job a body slave would normally do.” 

“No, but Derek’s asked the whole pack to help out with this thing.” 

“Pack,” his dad muttered, filling the word with disbelief and anger. 

“Yes, pack. You might not like it and you might not even believe it, but Derek treats me like part of the pack. This is important to him. Life or death important. And I’m going to do everything my power to make sure it goes well for him. If that involves researching presents to give another alpha, so be it.” 

And if it meant coming here for the feast on a day he was supposed to be with his dad, so be it. But Stiles didn’t say that out loud. His dad would be angry enough at Derek without Stiles admitting that he planned on ignoring their agreement in order to support Derek at this thing. 

“I guess you’re right,” his dad said. “We both have our orders.” 

Stiles went down to Derek’s study and let himself in. There was a sleek laptop in one of the drawers of the desk. It got stored away when not in use because it ruined the old-fashioned aesthetic of the room. Stiles got it out now and booted it up, entering Derek’s password when prompted. He ought to talk to Derek about cyber security at some point because _Laura_ was way too obvious a password. 

He opened up an internet browser and started hunting for stories of what happened when alphas went visiting. Derek was right; it seemed like this was a big deal. There were news articles talking about just about every aspect of the visits. So many articles that it made Stiles wonder if Cora had included press invites on her list of things to organise. He started hunting for any references to gifts and compiling them into a list. There were even a couple of mentions of other werewolves offering gifts to Deucalion. Stiles made sure they were at the top of the list. 

The only real pattern about the gifts was that they tended to be unique. No one just handed over a gift voucher. There were pieces of artwork, family heirlooms, antiques and even, Stiles shuddered to read it, one case of a werewolf handing over his personal slave as a gift. Some of the gifts were symbolic or had personal meanings. Some were utterly pointless but extravagantly expensive. 

Once he’d come up with a long list to work from, Stiles started brainstorming ideas of things Derek could give, browsing the sites of local antique shops and auction houses in case they had something suitable. 

He’d barely got started when the study door opened. Stiles looked up, expecting Derek to have decided he needed the room after all. Instead, it was one of the guys who worked security. 

“What are you doing in here, slave?” security guy asked. 

Stiles wasn't sure if he should admit that he was helping Derek prepare for the upcoming visit. So he hesitated in his answer and the security guy seemed to take that as a sign that Stiles was doing something wrong. 

“You think because your master’s busy you can sneak in here and mess around on his computer?” 

“He knows I’m here,” Stiles said. “I have his permission.” 

"A likely story. You march into the compound yesterday with shoes on like a free person and now you think you can just an alpha’s possessions?” 

So this was one of the guys who’d been on the door yesterday. Stiles hadn’t really paid attention, but he was glaring now as fiercely as he had then. Stiles stood up from the computer and walked slowly towards around the desk, hands out in a placating gesture. 

“I can if he lets me. Alpha Hale is busy with preparations for the upcoming visit. He wasn’t going to need me for anything else this morning, so he said I could use the computer. I have done nothing wrong. Whatever your personal feelings might be about what I’m doing, you have no authority to tell me to stop.” 

The fist caught Stiles by surprise. It slammed into the side of Stiles’ face and sent him stumbling into the desk, momentarily dazed. The impact clattered his teeth together and he seemed to feel it through his entire skull. 

“You don’t get to talk back to me like that, slave.” 

For a moment, Stiles thought that the roaring sound in his ears was an after-effect of the blow. Then Derek leapt into view, half-transformed. He seized the security guy by the throat and shoved him back until he hit the wall. Stiles could hear the impact. 

“You shouldn’t be talking to him at all,” Derek snarled at the security guy, who now looked about half a second away from peeing his pants. The man who’d been so tough and macho facing down Stiles actually whimpered. 

“He was using your computer,” the guy said. 

“I told him he could,” Derek snarled. “Even if he were being inappropriate, you don’t get to punish him. He’s mine. If you even lay a finger on him again, I will bite that finger off. Understand?” 

“Yes, sir. I understand. I’m sorry, sir.” 

Derek lowered his hand. Stiles could see little marks of red on the man’s throat where the claws had pierced skin. 

“Get out of here,” said Derek. “I don’t have time to deal with you today.” 

The man fled. 

Derek turned to look at Stiles, who was sprawled against the desk. In a heartbeat, the werewolf shape faded back into human and Derek crouched in front of Stiles, reaching out to tilt his face to the light and survey the damage. 

“How is it that you manage to be scary and possessive,” Stiles asked, “while being simultaneously incredibly sweet?” 

“I’m not sweet,” Derek said. His hand was still cupping Stiles’ chin, the fingers on his other hand were gently brushing over the skin of Stiles’ cheek where he’d been hit. The pain of the blow seemed to fade around Derek’s fingertips. The warmth of Derek’s touch wiped away the unpleasant sensations that had been there only moments before. Stiles had heard of the werewolf’s ability to remove pain but he’d never experienced it before. 

“You’re being kinda sweet,” Stiles said with a smile. 

“You were clearly hit in the head too hard.” 

Derek stood, putting a hand on Stiles’ arm to help him up. 

“Any dizziness?” Derek asked. “Blurred vision?” 

“No I’m fine. Don’t fuss.” 

“We should probably get someone to check you anyway.” 

“Derek, you don’t need to fret. It’ll bruise but my head can take quite a beating. You’ve got other things... oh! Press invites.” 

“What?” Derek’s looked of concern deepened at that random outburst. 

“Sorry. My head’s fine. My brain just goes off on tangents sometimes. I was thinking earlier that you’ll need to issue press invites and I wasn’t sure Cora had it on her list.” 

“I’ll add it to the list,” Derek said. “Now we should get you up to the suite.” 

“Derek, I’m fine. I’ve had worse in lacrosse practice. I promise. Now you go and get on with being the important alpha and I’ll continue to investigate presents.” 

Derek hesitated, “OK, but take the laptop up to the suite and work there. No one will interrupt you there. And get Scott to call his mom and ask if there are any signs we need to look out for.” 

“Dizziness, disorientation, blurred vision, sleepiness,” Stiles rattled off. At Derek’s confused look, he explained, “I told you, I’ve had worse in lacrosse.” 

“Get Scott to make the call anyway.” 

“Fine. But you know, for a werewolf, you can be a real mother hen.” 

“Get out of here before I hit you in the head,” Derek said. Strangely, hearing him make idle threats was almost comforting. After the weirdness of the past few days, this was back to normal. Stiles grinned. 

“That’s the Derek Hale we all know and love.” The words came out without thinking. 

For several moments, they just stood there, staring at each other. It had been a joke, just a random comment. He hadn’t meant to say... that. 

Once again, Stiles’ mouth got to work without engaging his brain and he started stammering out, “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean... I mean I meant it but not in the way it probably sounded. I mean I know that’s not what... I mean... you and me aren’t... we’re not... I mean... I don’t know what I mean. I’m going to shut up now.” 

“Probably wise.” 

Stiles gathered up the laptop and hurried out of the room. God! Why couldn’t he just think, for once? He’d practically declared his love to Derek Hale, to the guy who technically owned him. This was seriously screwed up and just about the worst possible timing in the universe. Things were finally going well being them. Why did he have to say something so stupid?


	17. Chapter 17

The compound remained in a state of frantic busyness that was only half a step away from chaos. All the pack had work to do organising things, preparing things or just making sure they hadn’t missed anything important. Stiles spent a lot of time doing research, trying to discover how other packs had organised these sort of visits, looking into possible entertainment, even going into preparations for the guest rooms. But, however busy Stiles was, Derek was busier. Stiles barely saw him, except when Derek needed to give out fresh instructions. What he did see though wasn’t good. 

Derek long since passed cranky and was well on his way to reaching raving. He would snap and snarl at everyone. His eyes would flash red at the slightest provocation. The compound staff were terrified to go near him, which didn’t help given that most of them needed to run decisions by him. 

On Thursday evening, Stiles had had enough. He marched down to the study, where Derek was still pouring over Cora’s master list. He looked ill, tired. He was pale with dark shadows under his eyes, frown lines showing across his forehead. He was glaring at the list as though that would get his workload to surrender. 

Derek barely glanced up, “I’m working, Stiles.” 

Stiles made sure the door was firmly closed so no one would overhear what was about to happen. 

“No,” he said. “You’re going to bed.” 

“I’ve got to sort out the arrangements for the feast.” 

“No. Your next job is to get a good night’s sleep.” 

“I don’t need you distracting me, Stiles. Get lost.” 

Stiles crossed to the desk, folded his arms and glared down at Derek. 

“You haven’t slept in two days,” he said. “You’re setting new records in the field of bad-temperedness and the people you need to help you prepare are going to have a full scale rebellion against your tyranny if you don’t get yourself under control. You are going to go to bed and sleep through the night. Then you’re going to have a good breakfast. _Then_ you can get on with work.” 

Derek’s eyes flashed red, “What makes you think you can order me about?” 

“Maybe the fact that everyone else is apparently too scared to tell you what you need to hear.” 

Derek made a low growling noise and Stiles fought the instinct to back away. Truth was, he was scared too. Derek was way too close to the edge. Stiles just had to trust that Derek wasn’t going to hurt him. The way he’d freaked out when other people had hurt Stiles was a good sign, so he held his ground in front of the growling werewolf. 

“If you keep going the way you are,” Stiles went on, “you’ll be dead before Deucalion even gets here, or you’ll make yourself so exhausted that when he shows up you’ll make stupid decisions and then get killed. You need to get some sleep.” 

“I don’t have time for you to bother me like this.” 

“Well I’m not leaving. So either you put up with me talking to you all night telling you that you need sleep, or you can just give in now and go to bed.” 

“You are the most frustrating person in the universe!” 

Stiles grinned, “I know. I practice. Now come to bed.” 

Derek continued glaring at him, so Stiles decided to take a different approach. He leaned closer and murmured, “I’m going to take you to bed.” 

Derek made a growling sound again, but this time it had a different note to it. It sounded almost hungry. Stiles wondered if it was a bad sign that he was learning to recognise Derek’s growly noises. Stiles reached out and caught hold of Derek’s hand, giving a gentle tug. With almost no resistance now, Derek stood. Stiles towed him by the hand to the study door. 

Outside the room, they walked side-by-side, their hands still linked. Stiles wondered if he ought to let go, if he ought to walk behind like a good little slave, but he wasn’t about to suggest it. He was just thrilled that he’d managed to get Derek out of that study and he wasn’t about to press his luck with anything right now. 

The suite was dark when they arrived. Either Scott was still working on things or he was already asleep. Stiles didn’t know which, so he walked quietly across the main room towards Derek’s bedroom. Once the bedroom door was closed behind them, Derek turned to face Stiles. He snaked a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and leaned in for the kiss. 

Stiles kissed Derek back, but kept it gentle, kept it slow. He had other things on his mind than sex right now. It was Stiles who broke the kiss. 

“Strip down to your underwear and lie down on the bed,” Stiles said. Derek gave a faint smile, the hungry look in his eyes again. 

Stiles had prepared for this. He’d not doubted he could get Derek up here; he was confident in his ability to wear someone down through incessant talking. He’d got a towel ready and now he flung aside the bed covers and laid the towel out on the mattress while Derek stripped off his clothes. He’d also fetched the bottle of massage oil from the little room behind the gym. He got it out now and Derek gave a questioning quirk of his eyebrows. 

“You helped me when I was stressed,” Stiles said. “I’m just returning the favour. Now get on the bed.” 

Derek walked to the bed and made a show of positioning himself on the towel. Stiles swallowed hard, seeing the muscles moving beneath flawless skin, and the dark lines of Derek’s tattoo on his back. Then Stiles walked to the bed and positioned himself to sit on the mattress beside Derek. 

He had no experience of giving a massage, but he figured he’d just start with a slow backrub. He squirted a little oil onto Derek’s shoulders. Derek shifted as the oil hit him. 

“You should warm it first,” Derek said. 

“Oh,” said Stiles. “Sorry. This is the first time I’ve done this.” 

Derek turned his head sideways on the pillow so he could smirk up at Stiles, “I’ll be gentle.” 

Stiles internally debated the pros and cons of whacking Derek on the ass. Instead, he just ran his hands slowly over Derek’s shoulders and down his back. Derek’s eyes drifted shut as Stiles continued slow motions. He didn’t press too hard, just kept an even pressure up and down the stiff muscles. Derek made a low noise of pleasure as Stiles kneaded those large shoulders and worked his thumbs into the muscles around Derek’s neck. 

He worked his hands back down, rubbing slow circles on either side of Derek’s spine. Then he reached the fabric of Derek’s boxers and slipped his hands underneath the waistband. 

Derek made another noise into the pillow and shifted position slightly. Stiles grinned, easily imagining what Derek was trying to make more comfortable. Stiles kept working into the muscles, acting as though this were still a massage, but now he was rubbing his hands over Derek’s ass. 

When Stiles pulled his hands away, Derek made a noise of protest. But Stiles just smiled at him and whispered, “Roll over.” 

Derek obeyed, rolling onto his back. He lay there, waiting, while Stiles eased Derek’s boxers down. Derek was already hard. Stiles didn’t waste much time before working his oiled hands over Derek’s penis, teasing his fingers over Derek’s balls. He didn’t really know what he was doing, so he just did things that he knew he liked. Derek was still lying there, eyes closed, but he was making small moaning noises that signalled Stiles’ plan was working. 

Stiles wrapped a hand around the shaft of Derek’s penis and started pumping, slower at first then faster. Soon, Derek gave and animalistic cry and arched his back off the bed. Streams of white cum splattered down over his stomach. 

Then he collapsed down onto the bed. 

Stiles eased the towel out from under Derek, wiping the oil from his hands and then the splattered semen from Derek’s stomach. He then pulled the bedcovers over to tuck Derek in before starting for the door, the dirty towel bundled in his arms. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice slurring with sleep. “Stay with me tonight.” 

“Alright,” Stiles said. “I’ll be right back.” 

He hurried out, dumping the towel in the laundry basket and then ducking into his bedroom to retrieve the sweatpants and loose t-shirt he wore to bed. In the bathroom, he stripped off his clothes, including the pants that now felt three sizes too small, and quickly pumped himself to a climax. It took almost no time; the sight of Derek’s body arching off the bed in orgasm had nearly made him come in his pants. 

Dressed for bed, Stiles slipped back into Derek’s bedroom. He thought Derek was already asleep, so he turned off the lights and made his way quietly to the big bed. He slid in under the covers. 

Derek proved to be not entirely asleep. He rolled over and flung one arm over Stiles. In the darkness, Derek pulled Stiles closer, pressing their bodies together. Stiles relaxed into Derek’s warmth and fell asleep being snuggled by an alpha werewolf. 

***

Derek woke early. Even exhaustion couldn’t shut off his mind for long and there were a thousand worries clamouring for attention. Still, he felt better for having slept, he couldn’t deny that, though he’d be damned before he’d admit that to Stiles. 

Stiles was still asleep, lying on his back with his limbs splayed out around him as if he subconsciously wanted to take up as much space as physically possible. Derek did his best to slip out of the bed without disturbing him. Stiles didn’t wake, but he reacted to the movement with a sleepy noise and then rolled over into the warm space where Derek had been lying. 

Derek grabbed some clean clothes from the closet and then went out into the main room of the suite. Before he showered, he made the call to the kitchen for breakfast. Stiles was right about that too; he probably hadn’t been eating properly over the past couple of days. 

The food had already arrived by the time Derek emerged from the shower, so he set into a large portion. He’d only just started when Stiles emerged from the big bedroom, not looking quite awake yet. 

“Morning,” Stiles said. 

“Morning,” Derek replied. 

Stiles came over to the table and helped himself to his breakfast. 

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked between mouthfuls. 

“Like I should have you whipped for impertinence,” Derek replied. 

“So back to normal then?” 

Derek suppressed a smile, but not quickly enough. Stiles gave a triumphant grin. It didn’t last long before Stiles’ face dropped into uncharacteristic seriousness. 

“We need to talk about my dad,” Stiles said, “and your deal with him.” 

The deal. Derek had almost forgotten in all the stress about Deucalion. Derek had promised Sheriff Stilinski that he could take Stiles away from here for a week. He couldn’t back out of that promise, especially not given how publically it had been made. 

“We could postpone your side of it,” Stiles went on. “Dad will be mad as hell, but if you want me around this week, I can go back with dad some other time. Or you might be glad if I’m not here. I mean, I can’t embarrass you if I’m not here when Deucalion comes. It’s up to you.” 

Stiles seemed nervous. Derek wondered whether Stiles was worried about having to be there when Deucalion showed up. Or perhaps he was worried that Derek didn’t want him there. Derek knew that from an image perspective, having a human kneeling at his feet was a good way of reminding everyone that he had power. Plus, it would be easier to keep Deucalion from noticing Scott if Stiles were there. 

But it would be dangerous for Stiles to be there. Derek couldn’t afford to show weakness. So if Stiles made the slightest of slips, Derek would be forced to punish him, probably in such a way that it would be indisputable to Deucalion that punishment occurred. It would hurt Stiles and probably destroy any chance of Stiles wanting to be with Derek in the future. The safest thing to do would be to stick to the original terms of the deal with the Sheriff. 

But Derek needed Stiles. This visit was going to be hell and Derek didn’t want to face it alone. 

Not that he would be alone. He had his pack. He had Cora. But still... 

“Are you going to say something?” Stiles asked. Derek realised he’d probably been staring at Stiles for several minutes while his thoughts had run in circles. 

“Do you want to be here for the feast?” Derek asked. 

“Do I want to be in the same location as an alpha werewolf that has even you terrified? Hell no! But I want you to get through this unchallenged and in one piece and I want to help you with that. If that means being here, I’ll be here. If that means not being here then I’ll... you know... not.” 

Derek knew he was being selfish, but he wanted Stiles here beside him when Deucalion came. 

“Go home with your dad today,” Derek said. “Spend the week with him as we agreed and then come back here next Friday after school so you’ll be here for the feast.” 

The sheriff couldn’t really complain as he would be getting what Derek had promised him and would have to do less work that had been originally asked. Derek couldn’t be seen to go back on his word just before Deucalion visited, but this should appease everyone. 

“I can still help with research and stuff,” Stiles offered. 

Derek shook his head, “Enjoy your time with your dad.” 

He’d finished his breakfast now, so he set down his cutlery and started to get up. He had a lot of work to do and not enough time to do it. Still, he paused in the doorway and said, “Come and see me before you leave. I’ll be in the study.”


	18. Chapter 18

Stiles didn’t really need to pack, since most of his stuff was at home anyway, but he did go into the slave bedroom to grab the new stuff he’d bought when out with Isaac and Scott. Scott was woken up by the noise, despite Stiles’ attempts to keep quiet. 

“What are you doing?” Scott asked. 

“Going back home for the week,” Stiles said, and explained the change in arrangement made necessary by the visit. 

“I thought you might be moving officially into Derek’s bedroom.” 

Stiles paused, hands clutching folds of cloth as he was in the process of shoving things into a bag. Last night had been nice, falling asleep in Derek’s arms. He could easily get used to that if he let himself. If Derek let him. 

“It’s still unofficial,” Stiles said. 

“I guess this isn’t the best time to discuss relationship status with Derek.” 

“This isn’t the best time to discuss anything with Derek. He’s still in full sourwolf mode.” 

Scott chuckled at that. 

“I’m worried about him,” Stiles said. “The way he’s been working the past few days, he’ll burn out. Can you make sure he gets his rest and enough to eat?” 

“I’m not tucking your boyfriend into bed for you,” Scott said. 

Stiles snorted at that mental image, “Just make sure he doesn’t collapse from exhaustion before Deucalion gets here.” 

“Done.” 

That taken care of, Stiles grabbed his things in one hand and a plate of breakfast in the other, and headed to his dad’s room. His dad was there waiting for him, a little surprised to see the bag of clothes in Stiles’ hand. 

“Change of plans,” Stiles said. “We’re going home today.” 

His dad didn’t look to happy at the idea that Stiles would be here for the big important werewolf party, but he didn’t argue. He knew he’d come out well out of this change in the deal. Stiles left his dad to eat breakfast and pack up his own stuff, while Stiles went to talk to Isaac. 

Isaac was in his room, just finishing getting dressed. He was displaying what Stiles was coming to think of as the werewolf torso: an impressive collection of abs and pecs. 

“Can’t you put a shirt on,” Stiles complained, “I’m feeling a bit inadequate here.” 

Isaac grinned and grabbed a shirt out of his dresser. 

“What’s up?” Isaac asked. Stiles explained the change of plans yet again and was half-way through making the same request he’d made to Scott, when he noticed something sitting on Isaac’s dresser. It was a small box decorated with sparkly pink hearts. 

“What the hell’s that?” Stiles asked. 

Isaac looked embarrassed, “I said I’d got you a gift to celebrate you and Derek finally getting your acts together, but then this whole thing with Deucalion kicked off and it didn’t seem the right time to give it to you.” 

“Can I see it?” 

Isaac was still looking embarrassed as he handed the box over. 

“It’s just a gag gift,” Isaac said. 

Stiles lifted the lid off the box and looked at the contents. Then he looked up at Isaac with a glare. 

“If that was a deliberate pun, I may need to hit you,” he said. Inside the box was a rubber ball attached to leather straps. It was unmistakeably a gag. No doubt Isaac had picked it up in that freaky leather shop. 

Stiles put the lid back on the box and shoved it into Isaac’s hands. 

“You don’t want to keep it?” Isaac asked. “You might need it if Derek’s ever to get a word in edgewise.” 

“I hate you,” Stiles said. He turned to walk away. 

“Just think about it,” Isaac called after him. 

“I still hate you,” Stiles called back. 

***

Bags in hand, Stiles and his dad went to Derek’s study. Stiles knocked on the door. 

“What?” snapped Derek’s voice from inside. 

“It’s me,” Stiles called. 

“Come in.” 

Derek was standing up from his paper-strewn desk as the two walked in. Stiles closed the door so that they’d have some privacy. Derek went first to the sheriff. 

“The visit next week is important,” Derek said. “Stiles knows how important. I can’t afford to appear weak in front of Deucalion. Our deal is that you have a week with Stiles and then bring him back here. If you fail to do so, I will be forced to act.” 

“Is that a threat?” Stiles’ dad asked. 

“A warning. We both want the same thing, Sheriff. We both want Stiles safe. Don’t do anything foolish.” 

“I don’t just want my son safe. I want him free.” 

The two men were staring at each other. Stiles was a little impressed that his dad was meeting Derek’s gaze glare for glare, but it was getting them nowhere. 

“Are you done with the macho posturing?” Stiles asked. Derek turned his glare in Stiles’ direction. His dad just looked horrified. 

“I’ll be back before the party,” Stiles said, “and if you need me to do any research or anything, just call me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Enjoy your time with your dad.” 

“And I’ve deputised Scott and Isaac to make sure you get enough to eat and actually get some sleep between now and the visit.” 

Stiles had more to say, but Derek startled him by closing the distance between them. Derek’s arms wrapped around Stiles in a warm embrace and Derek brought his mouth close to Stiles’ ear, murmuring softly. 

“If you keep embarrassing me in front of your dad, I’ll start calling you ‘Sweetcheeks’ in front of him.” 

Stiles pulled away and feigned a look of horror, “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Try me.” Derek’s face looked serious, but there was a faint sparkle of humour in his eyes. 

“You evil fiend! Very well. You win this round.” 

Derek’s mouth actually twitched up slightly into something vaguely resembling a smile. 

“I’m going to miss you,” he said. “Now go irritate someone else for a week.” 

It looked like a hug was all he was going to get, so Stiles brought his hand up to Derek’s head and pulled him back for a kiss. Their lips met for one hot moment as Derek kissed him back. But only for a moment. Derek broke away, his face hovering millimetres away from Stiles’. 

“Go before I rip your clothes off in front of your dad,” Derek muttered. 

Stiles went to the door but a thought occurred to him. He turned back. 

“If you get in a mood where you’re inclined to maim and kill someone,” Stiles said, “ask Isaac about the present. It’ll make you laugh. Or make you want to maim and kill Isaac. Either way, it’ll get the urge to kill out of your system.” 

“Get out of here, Stiles,” Derek said, “before I have the urge to kill you.” 

“See you in a week.” 

“Goodbye, Stiles.” 

Stiles let them out of the study and walked with his dad to the entrance. He paused there long enough to put some shoes on and then they went out to the waiting cab. Stiles wasn’t sure who had called for the cab, but it made life easier. The two of them slid into the back seat and his dad gave their address to the driver. Moments later, they were driving out along an avenue of neatly trimmed trees and out into the forest which surrounded the compound. As they passed through the main gates, his dad seemed to melt against the seat, as though tension had just flowed out of him. 

Back at the house, the sheriff paid the cab fare and then let them both inside. Stiles hadn’t realised how much he’d missed this place until he saw it in all its familiarity. He was hit by a strange sort of homesickness that he hadn’t let himself feel while he’d been away. 

His dad checked through the rooms of the house, giving them each a cursory search. Stiles wondered what he was looking for. Perhaps he was just making sure they were really alone. Then he came back to join Stiles in the kitchen. 

“I know you’re scared of what could go wrong,” he said, “but if we’re going to leave, now is the time to do it.” Stiles started to speak, but his dad kept talking, over-riding him. “One of the deputies has agreed to give me her old truck and she’ll hide my car somewhere it’s not likely to be found for a while. We could be hundreds of miles from here before anyone knows we’re gone. Before I came to get you, I bought some hair dye and tinted contact lenses, which will work as a basic disguise. I’ve got a contact in Nevada who’ll help get us fake passports so we can get out of the country. There are some places in Europe where the werewolf laws don’t allow slavery.” 

“That’s your plan?” Stiles said. “Run away to France?” 

“I thought Sweden. It’s the country with the smallest gap between werewolf and human rights.” 

“And you’re not bothered by the fact that the only word of Swedish you know is ‘Ikea’?” 

“We can be safe there.” 

“Dad, I’m not running away.” 

“Stiles, this could be your only chance at freedom. We can go somewhere where no one will hurt you.” 

He reached out and ran a finger over Stiles’ cheek, where a purple bruise showed the results of the run-in with the security guard. Stiles thought of the way Derek had acted after that, so tender and concerned about the fact that harm had come to Stiles. He thought of last night with Derek. He’d stood up to an alpha werewolf and the only consequence was that Derek had invited him to share his bed. He thought of the way Isaac had acted and even the word Scott had used to describe Derek: boyfriend. 

"Dad, didn’t you hear anything I said back at the compound.” 

“Of course you had to say that stuff where there were werewolves around with their enhanced hearing.” 

“The werewolves are my friends. Well, maybe not Erica, but she might have just been acting psychotic because she’d only just been bitten and apparently it takes a while to get used to the chance. But I like Isaac and Cora.” 

“What about Alpha Hale?” his dad asked. 

“I like him, Dad. And I mean _like_. I know that there’s no chance of a future with him but he likes me too so I may as well make the best of this time.” 

“Stiles, I hear stories about what happens in that compound and the sort of things he enjoys. You’re young and...” He trailed off, so Stiles finished that train of thought for him. 

“I’m a teenaged boy. You think I’m thinking with my dick.” 

His dad didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. His expression said it clearly enough. He was probably right. Stiles hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly over the past few days, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a bad thing. 

“I’m not running away, Dad. I’m going to go to school like a good boy next week and then I’m going back to the compound to help Derek through Deucalion’s visit. I appreciate everything you’re trying to do for me, but I should have a say in this decision and I’ve made up my mind.” 

His dad looked at him for a long time and then sighed. 

“I can’t force you,” he said, “but we may never get another chance like this.” 

“I know. But I’m willing to accept that.” 

And that was all that could be said on the subject.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my Christmas present to you all. :) 
> 
> Not a lot happens in this chapter, but I needed to get through the weekend.

His dad insisted on catch-up bonding time. They went out bowling, of all things, followed by a meal in their favourite diner. Stiles wondered if his dad was being deliberately public in case any werewolves were checking up on them. While they were out, his dad didn’t make another mention of the plan to run away, but that couldn’t last. As soon as they got back home that evening, his dad started talking about it again. He suggested that they could load up the car as if they were planning an early-morning fishing trip, to allay suspicions, and then take off in the night. 

“I’m not running away,” Stiles insisted again. 

“Stiles, you’ve been through a traumatic experience and it’s not unheard of for victims of capture to feel a bond with their captors as a sort of psychological defence.” 

“I do not have Stockholm syndrome.” 

Stiles could see why his dad would get that idea though. Stiles had been taken prisoner by an apparently brutal werewolf and now he was sympathising with Derek and refusing an escape plan. It must look thoroughly illogical to his dad. 

“Stiles, we have a chance, a real chance, to get away from here and escape from Derek Hale. If we miss this, you could spend the rest of your life regretting it.” 

"I don't need to escape Derek.” Stiles felt like they’d argued this in circles forever. When he couldn’t get his dad to stop talking about the escape plan, Stiles just walked out of the room and headed for the bedroom. No sooner had Stiles shut the bedroom door than his dad opened it. 

“I get more privacy at Derek’s place,” Stiles complained. “Plus, Derek actually listened to me when I told him I didn’t want to carry on a particular conversation.” 

“I could force you to come with me,” his dad said. 

“No you couldn’t, particularly not if your plan involves boarding a plane with a fake passport. The only way your plan will work is if I cooperate, which I’m not going to, so stop trying to convince me to run away.” 

"Stiles, think about it logically." 

Stiles shut the door in his dad’s face. 

***

Saturday was little better. His dad spent breakfast trying to convince Stiles that running away was the only sensible plan. 

“Just think about what that man’s done to you,” his dad insisted. 

“Like what?” Stiles asked. 

“Hurting you.” 

“Derek’s never hurt me.” 

“Letting other people hurt you then.” 

Stiles sighed. “This week wasn’t exactly a representative sample,” he said. “In all the time I’ve been with Derek, I’ve been hit once and jabbed by a psychopathic werewolf once. Both times, Derek flipped out at the person who hurt me and then got all... mushy over me.” 

His dad wasn’t letting it go that easily, “What about... other things?” 

“Like?” Stiles asked. His dad looked embarrassed but Stiles saw no reason to make this easy on him. 

“You know... using you... in bed.” 

Stiles folded his arms and glared across the breakfast table at his dad. This wasn't a conversation he'd ever imagined having with his father, but it seemed the only way out of this was to come clean about his sex life. 

“I’ve been in Derek’s bed a grand total of twice,” Stiles said. “Both times, I instigated it. Derek has never pushed, in fact he’s been beyond a gentleman in terms of making sure he didn’t do anything I’m uncomfortable with. He hasn’t hurt me or abused me or used me or done anything bad. What he has done is given me a back massage when I was stressed. He watched Firefly with me just because he knew I liked it. He makes sure that my favourite dish is there when we have pack dinners.” As Stiles was listing those things for his dad, a thought settled in his mind that had never quite registered before. A vague awareness became a real thought that look up residence and made him smile. 

“Derek likes me,” Stiles said. 

***

They went over to Mrs McCall’s for dinner. She wanted to know all about Scott so Stiles ended up doing so much talking that there was barely time to eat the food she’d prepared. 

“He’s getting very good at chess,” Stiles told her. 

“Chess?” 

“Yeah, Derek has this thing about chess being a wonderful way of learning strategic thinking. He makes his pack play so Scott spends a lot of time playing chess with Isaac.” 

“Isaac is one of the beta werewolves?” 

“Yeah. He and Scott hang out quite a lot. I think Isaac might have a little crush on Scott.” 

Mrs McCall looked worried, “Will that cause problems with Alpha Hale? I hear he gets jealous.” 

Stiles almost laughed, because the idea of Derek getting jealous over Scott struck him as hilarious. Scott was part of Derek’s pack but there was nothing romantic between them. 

“Scott’s fine,” Stiles said. “Isaac’s just friendly around him.” 

They talked until the food was gone. On the way out, Mrs McCall hugged Stiles and told him to tell Scott that she missed him. Stiles promised to pass the message on and then he got into the car with his dad to go home. 

On the drive, Stiles’ phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket. Isaac’s name appeared on the screen so Stiles answered. He then had to hold the phone away from his ear to prevent deafness. 

“I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” Isaac yelled. 

Stiles brought the phone back to the side of his head once the echoes had died down and he said a cheery, “Hi, Isaac.” 

“Why did you tell Derek about the gift?” Isaac demanded. 

“I thought it might make him laugh.” 

“He came to me in a foul mood and asked to see it.” 

“Did he leave in a foul mood?” Stiles asked. 

“He shoved me into the wall. There’s now a hole between my bedroom and Erica’s.” 

Stiles laughed and said, “Enjoy your new view.” Isaac growled down the phone at him. 

“Why did you buy it if you didn’t want Derek to see it?” Stiles asked. 

“It was meant to be a joke at a pack dinner or something when he was already in a good mood. In the mood he’s in now, I think his sense of humour has curled up and died.” 

“It could be worse. At least he didn’t rip your throat out.” 

“I hate you,” Isaac said. 

Stiles chuckled, “I hate you too.” 

“See you at school.” 

“See ya.” 

Stiles hung up the call. His dad was just pulling the car into their driveway. He parked and gave Stiles a long, serious look. 

“We are leaving,” he said. 

“Nothing’s changed since the last time we had this conversation,” Stiles said. 

“Nothing’s changed? A werewolf just threatened to kill you!” 

“That’s just Isaac.” 

“How can you be so calm about this?” his dad demanded. 

“I know he doesn’t mean it.”

“Stiles, your life is in danger.” 

“Not from Isaac. Seriously, he’s like the least scary member of the pack.” 

His dad killed the car engine and led the way into the house. He headed straight upstairs and into Stiles’ room. Stiles tried to protest as his dad flung open drawers and closet, pulling out armfuls of clothes and shoving them into a duffel bag. His dad seemed to have stopped hearing Stiles. Stiles gave up arguing and went downstairs, planting himself in an armchair from which he would not be budged. He could understand that his dad was worried but it was actually a little hurtful that his dad refused to listen to his opinion. 

While Stiles waited for his dad to reappear, his phone rang again. This time, the screen said Derek. 

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles said, answering. “Need some more research?” 

“Isaac showed me what he showed you,” Derek said. “Are you alright?” 

Stiles was puzzled. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. 

“I know you were concerned about the power balance,” Derek answered. “A gift like that would... upset the balance.”

Stiles thought he understood. Isaac’s gift was clearly meant to suggest that Derek would tie Stiles up and gag him. Stiles had resisted that idea before and now Derek was worried that Stiles would be upset or scared by the idea. Derek was making sure Stiles wasn’t feeling threatened as a result of it. Which was actually sort of sweet. 

“Isaac meant it as a joke,” Stiles said, “and that’s how I interpreted it. No harm done.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Stiles had just about had enough of people treating him like he was some fragile flower about to break, too weak to trust his own opinions. 

“Derek, stop fretting about it. You’ve got more important things to worry about this week. Just let me know if there’s anything you want me to do to prepare.” 

There was a hesitation at the other end of the line. While Stiles waited for Derek’s answer, he saw his dad come downstairs, laden with bags. His dad paused in the doorway. Stiles wondered how much he’d heard, if he’d realised who it was Stiles was talking to. For a moment, Stiles wondered if he should tell Derek his dad’s plan, just to make sure his dad wouldn’t carry it out. 

“Wear something tight-fitting on Friday,” Derek said at last. “I’ll want to show you off.” 

The idea of being shown off for his body was one that made Stiles uncomfortable but he didn’t say that. He just said, “No problem.” 

“I miss you,” Derek said. 

Stiles found himself grinning, “Miss you too. I’ll see you on Friday.” 

Stiles hung up, looked across at his dad and said, “I didn’t tell him you plan on kidnapping me.” 

“That was Alpha Hale?” his dad asked. 

“Yes. He was checking I was alright.” 

“This probably means he won’t check in for a while, which makes this the perfect time to leave. Stiles, get in the car.” 

“No.” 

“Stiles...” his dad used his warning voice, the tone that he’d used when Stiles was younger and constantly causing trouble. 

“No. The only way you’ll make me leave is if you physically drag me and I’m pretty sure I could take you.” 

“Stiles, please.” 

“Dad, trust me.” 

A silence fell between them. That sense of hurt settled again into Stiles’ core because it was becoming more obvious with each passing minute that his dad didn’t trust him. Not really. 

***

On Sunday, they went out grocery shopping. Stiles hoped this was a sign that his dad had surrendered on the running away idea, because he was loading up the trolley with food for the week. In the aisles of the store, Stiles and his dad had their customary arguments about what food his dad should or shouldn’t eat. It all felt remarkably normal. 

Later, Stiles called Scott to check in on Derek. 

“If grumpiness was an Olympic sport,” Scott said, “he’d have the gold.” 

“So, business as usual then?” 

“The usual times a thousand.” 

“Ouch.” 

They shared a laugh and a moan down the phone line and then Scott said he had to go. Organising to do for the visit. Stiles asked if there was anything he could do to help and Scott told him no. Everything needed to be organised from the compound, so Stiles felt extremely useless. Once again, Stiles wished he could be with Derek, to help him through this.


	20. Chapter 20

Monday morning dawned, bringing with it the first day of the school year. Stiles was actually looking forward to it because it meant he could get away from his dad and the endlessly repeating argument. 

After life in the werewolf compound, the normality of packing up a bag of school supplies and heading off in his jeep felt strange. His dad was back in work this morning, but they managed a civil breakfast before heading off for their respective days. 

Stiles parked his jeep outside school and wondered if he was imagining the looks being sent in his direction. Last year, he’d been almost invisible in school, now it seemed he was infamous. He wasn’t sure if this was a good thing. 

When Derek’s Camaro pulled up, there could be no doubt that people were looking. The three official betas got out of the car, along with Scott, and it was like everyone in school turned to stare. Isaac, Cora and Erica seemed to be encouraging it, with sleek black leather and, in Erica’s case, a distracting amount of exposed cleavage. Scott was a little more subtle, but not by much. 

Scott noticed Stiles and came over to him and they walked into school together. Stiles talked about lunch with Scott’s mom. Scott talked about the preparations for the visit. 

“Do you know there’s someone in Beacon Hills who makes ice sculptures?” Scott asked. “I’ve got to see her after school about making ice wolves for the feast.” 

“Ice wolves?” 

“This will be by far the most upscale party I’ve ever been to.” 

Stiles asked about Derek and Scott groaned. 

“I might kill him before Deucalion has a chance to,” Scott said. 

“That bad, huh?” 

“He nearly wolfed out because someone had ordered gold garlands instead of silver. Cora’s had to talk him down a couple of times after he flipped out at some member of staff.” 

"It's going to be a long week." 

Scott and Stiles went to first period together, and Stiles was more focused on whether there was anything he could do to help Derek than he was on the subject of the class. He did look up when the door opened and a member of staff brought in a new student, announcing her name as Allison Argent. She looked a little nervous as she walked through the class to an empty seat near the back, just behind Scott. Scott, who turned round with a smile and offered her a pen. 

Stiles wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but Allison took the pen with a smile and Scott turned back to the front of the class, grinning like a lunatic. 

***

A while later, Stiles was sorting out books from his locker. Scott stood next to him, staring across the hall at the new girl with a distant look on his face. 

“Scott? Earth to Scott?” 

It was only when Stiles waved a hand in front of Scott’s face that Scott seemed to notice he was there. He looked at Stiles, that strange, loopy smile still on his face. 

“I wonder what the rules are about us dating,” Scott said. 

“No!” Stiles said. “Don’t even think about it. Derek’s got enough to worry about this week without you mooning over some girl you haven’t even spoken to. Wait until after the visit.” 

“But look at her. If I don’t talk to her, then someone else will ask her out.” 

"And if they hit it off it wouldn't have worked for you anyway and if they don't, then you can make your move later.”

Scott continued staring dreamily across the hall at where Allison was talking to Lydia. Stiles knew he probably shouldn’t be too hard on Scott for a lovesick crush given how much time he’d spent staring at Lydia over the years, but the timing of it truly sucked. Scott might be a werewolf but as far as the world was concerned, he was Derek’s property. If he started flirting with someone else, it wouldn’t look good. It could be seen as a challenge to Derek’s authority and that would be lethal with Deucalion’s visit on the horizon. 

***

Scott didn’t mention Allison for a while and Stiles hoped that meant he’d seen reason. He could survive admiring her from afar for a week. When they shared classes, Scott stared at her across the room, but they could cope with that. The trouble really began when lessons were over and it was time for lacrosse practice. 

They’d discussed this with Derek before the mess with Deucalion started and he’d agreed that they could stay on the lacrosse team, or, in Stiles’ case, stay sitting on the bench watching the lacrosse team play. Isaac was there too, looking forward to his first experience playing with werewolf strength and reflexes. Coach was thrilled about that too and didn’t try to hide it. There was nothing in the rules that banned werewolves from playing but it was unusual, so Beacon Hills would have an advantage having Isaac on the team. 

On the field, Coach stuck Scott in goal. Stiles tried not to laugh when the first ball caught Scott in the face, but after that Scott seemed determined not to let a single shot in. Scott had never been any good in goal, but here he was catching every single ball. Stiles wanted to run across the pitch and thump him in the head. It was way too obvious. Last year, Scott had been the athletic runt stuck on the bench next to Stiles for the whole season. The dramatic change was too suspicious. 

When practice was over, Stiles went over to Scott to yell at him, but Scott had that dreamy look on his face again. They walked slowly back towards the locker room with Scott smiling dazedly. 

“She was watching me,” he said. “She thought I was good.” 

Stiles gave in to temptation and whacked Scott round the head. 

“Hey!” Scott protested. 

“You’re supposed to be hiding the fact that you’re a werewolf,” Stiles pointed out. “Did you forget that your life is in danger too if Deucalion figures it out?” 

“Deucalion’s not going to be watching high school lacrosse games.” 

“No, but if other people start whispering that maybe you’re really a werewolf, don’t you think he might take an interest? Tone it down!” 

“I’m not going to be stuck on the bench another year. Not now that my asthma’s gone.” 

Stiles groaned. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only one with any common sense. 

“Just tone it down a bit then,” Stiles said. “And we’ll tell people that you’ve been practicing with Isaac and that dealing with his werewolf reflexes has made you improve. And you try and not do anything else suspicious for at least a week.” 

“Fine,” Scott surrendered. “I’ll tone it tone a bit.” 

“Good.” 

But Scott didn't promise to avoid Allison altogether of course. She must have hung around after practice because when Scott and Stiles finished in the locker room, she was still there. They saw her in front of the school, heading to meet a man who was presumably her father. At least, she was getting into his car, so Stiles hoped so. 

She caught sight of them through the car’s window and Scott raised a hand in a wave. She waved back, smiling. Scott had that love-sick look on his face again and Stiles wasn’t sure there was the slightest chance of Scott toning things down. Why did this have to happen right before the big visit? 

***

Stiles had decided to get a gift for Derek. Just a little something to remind Derek that people cared for him and to hopefully cheer him up. He wondered briefly what he should get but when the thought came to him, there was no way he could get anything else. 

There was a posh grocers in the middle of town that did upmarket foods and smart gift hampers. Stiles headed inside and picked out a small basket to fill with food for Derek. A not-so-subtle reminder that eating wasn’t optional was the perfect thing to get him, particular when Stiles would be too far away for Derek to snarl at him. 

Stiles filled the basket with cookies and fruit, crackers and pates. Then he took it to the register to pay. He’d chosen the smallest basket the store had, but even so he winced at the price. Derek had better eat this stuff or Stiles would be the one snarling. 

“Do you want delivery?” asked the woman at the register. Stiles considered for a moment before saying no. He could just give it to Scott at school and ask him to pass it along to Derek. 

“Card?” register lady offered. 

Stiles picked up the card and fished a pen from his bag. He wondered what he should write for a minute, but then the right words came to him and he scribbled a quick message, grinning at the thought of how Derek would react when he opened the card. 

He was still grinning when he left the shop clutching the gift basket. 

***

Traffic in Beacon Hills wasn’t usually bad, but first thing in the morning, when it felt like everyone in the world was trying to get to work or school, getting through the centre of town could be a nightmare. So Stiles usually skirted around the town to get to school. The drive was a bit longer, but it meant he could avoid the busier areas. It was a plan that served him well, except when his piece of crap jeep decided to be even crappier than usual. 

He was heading down a quiet, wooded road when the engine just died. It didn’t shudder or make weird noises, which was the usual sign that something was about to go wrong. No, it just decided it was bored of working and didn’t want to do it anymore. 

Stiles steered the jeep to the edge of the road with the last of the momentum and then he tried the ignition again and again, hoping to get the thing to come to life again. 

“Come on,” Stiles muttered. “Don’t do this to me. Just a few more miles. Just turn on, you stupid thing.” 

The engine stubbornly refused to do anything. Stiles got out of the driver’s seat, swearing under his breath, and went round to lift the hood. He wasn’t sure why, since it wasn’t like there would be a big red button that would magically make the thing work again. 

Another car pulled up at the side of the road, right behind Stiles. A man got out. He looked a little familiar, but Stiles had bigger worries right now than figuring out where from. 

“Need any help?” the man asked. 

“I need a better car,” Stiles said. “I’m going to have to call a tow truck.” 

This wasn’t the first time his jeep had decided to play up at an awkward moment, so Stiles had the number of a local garage on a piece of card in the driver’s side door. He went to retrieve it now. The man hadn’t left, he was still standing there, looking at Stiles as though trying to figure it out. 

“I saw you yesterday, didn’t I?” the man said. “You go to school with Allison?” 

“That’s right. I’m Stiles.” 

“Chris Argent.” The man offered his hand and Stiles shook it. “I’m heading to the school. I’m dropping off some stuff Allison forgot. Do you want a lift? You can call someone to pick up your car on the way?” 

Stiles hesitated a moment, but it wasn’t like this guy was completely a stranger and he didn’t want to be late to school this week of all weeks. So he agreed, pausing only to retrieve Derek’s gift basket from the passenger seat. 

***

Derek was going through the agenda for the visit, which was probably the most complicated timetable ever created. They had contingencies and contingencies for the contingencies. There was a basic schedule of events, with notes for what they would do if Deucalion brought human staff he wanted included, if he brought other werewolves, if he decided he didn’t like a particular activity, if the entertainment fell through. They had plans for entertainment for up to two weeks, in case Deucalion extended his stay, though they were scraping the bottom of the barrel for the last couple of nights. 

It was starting to come together. For the first time since the emissary brought the message, Derek started to feel like they could pull this off. The kitchens were stocked up with enough food for the feast and for formal dinners, for any number of potential guests. If Deucalion turned up alone for just one night, then the homeless of Beacon Hills would be feasting for a month on the remains. 

Derek gave the agenda one final check before signing off his agreement. 

He was about to move onto the next document when his phone buzzed. It was a text from Isaac. Derek brought up the words and his heart froze. 

_Stiles didn’t show up at school today._


	21. Chapter 21

The pack had taken the Camaro to get to school, but that was probably a good thing. The compound had several vehicles available for use by staff and residents and they were generally more discrete. Derek needed discrete right now. A show of fury would not help Stiles. 

So Derek borrowed a dull, grey car and drove into Beacon Hills, careful to stick to the speed limits precisely. Stories of him being caught speeding would fly through the community if he let them, and that would only make people ask the question of why he was going fast. Questions were the last thing he needed right now. 

He pulled into a parking space in front of the Sheriff’s office. He checked his phone again, but the screen was still blank. He’d told his pack to text him if Stiles showed up at school. Silence was bad news. He pulled up Stiles’ number from the contacts and tried yet again, but the call went straight to voicemail. Derek didn’t bother with a message this time. He shoved the phone in his pocket and walked inside. 

The deputy on the front desk gave him a look of confused recognition. 

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked. 

“I need to speak to the Sheriff,” Derek said. He was keeping the wolf in check. No claws, no fangs, no glowing eyes, but still she nodded nervously and told him that the Sheriff was in his office. Derek walked on through. Sure enough, Sheriff Stilinski was working in an office. He looked up from behind his desk, his expression as confused as the woman on the front desk. 

“Alpha Hale? What brings you here?” 

“I’m not in the mood for games, Sheriff.” 

“I’m not playing. Is this about Stiles?” 

“Of course it’s about Stiles!” The words came out harsher than Derek had intended. He could feel the wolf clawing its way to the surface and he forced the animal anger back down. He needed to stay human for this. 

“I know you want to protect Stiles,” Derek said, “and I know that you don’t like him being with me. I understand. But believe me that this visit from Deucalion makes everything far more dangerous. For all of us, including Stiles. This is the worst possible time for you to try anything.” 

The sheriff had stood up but he was keeping the desk between him and Derek. He swallowed nervously and Derek could hear the man’s heart pounding. He could practically smell the fear. 

“What are you going to do?” Sheriff Stilinski asked. 

“Nothing. I don’t want to hurt Stiles and anything I could do would only hurt him. So as far as I’m concerned, nothing’s happened. Stiles comes back and I ignore this.” 

“Back?” Confusion laced the sheriff’s tone. There was still the scent of fear but now there was a different flavour to it. “What do you mean, back?” 

The man’s heart was still beating fast, but that could be from the fear. The confusion sounded genuine. Derek felt a chill of fear sapping away some of the heat of his own anger. 

“Stiles is missing,” Derek said. “He didn’t turn up to school.” 

There could be no doubting the fear that paled the sheriff’s face. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

Derek pulled his phone from his pocket and showed Isaac’s text. The sheriff’s hand was trembling slightly as he read it. Then the Sheriff grabbed his own phone and dialled. In moments, he was on with Stiles’ voicemail. 

“Stiles, you had better call me back the instant you get this message or you’ll be grounded until the next ice age. Just... be alright. You hear me? I need you to be alright.” 

The sheriff hung up, hands still shaking slightly until he place them on the desk’s surface and leaned forward over it. He looked close to tears. For an instant, there was a vulnerability about him that made him look so like Stiles. Then he straightened up. His face was still pale but he looked calm, ready to work. 

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Alpha Hale. I will handle things from here.” 

“Not a chance,” said Derek. “If Stiles is in trouble, I’m going to find him.” 

“I’m going to find him,” the sheriff said. 

“He’s my responsibility.” 

“He’s my son!” 

Derek took a breath and realised that everything he was feeling, every chill of fear, Sheriff Stilinski must be feeling a thousand times over. He nodded. 

“I suppose that does trump boyfriend,” he said. “We’ll look for him together. But we need to keep this discrete, unofficial.” 

"Why?" 

“Because it’s possible that Stiles decided to skip school and turn his phone off. Or friends of his might have decided they needed to spend time with him too. Or someone might think they’re rescuing him from me. If this becomes publically known, then I’m an alpha werewolf whose authority has been challenged and property taken. I’ll have no choice but to act accordingly with whoever’s behind this, even if it turns out to be Stiles.” 

“Do you really think it might be just Stiles messing around?” 

“I don’t know. But if we keep this quiet until we do know, then I have more choice about how to act with whoever is responsible.” 

The sheriff nodded his agreement. “There are a couple of deputies I trust to keep this quiet. I’ll let them know what’s going on but we’ll keep this below the radar for now.” 

Sheriff Stilinski left the office to go talk to those trusted deputies. Derek waited in the office, checking his phone yet again. Still no messages. The phone buzzed even as he held it and Derek’s heart leapt. The text was from Scott, but it didn’t bring news of Stiles. It asked if Derek needed them to leave school to help the search. His heart sank again as he texted back, telling the pack to act normal for the time being. 

“Any news?” The sheriff had come back into the office and seen the phone in Derek’s hand. Derek shook his head, pocketing the phone. 

Stilinski was in full police mode, acting calm and rational, considering details. He asked Derek for his side of things, for when he’d last heard from Stiles. Then he told his side, about having breakfast with Stiles and then seeing him get into his jeep to head to school. 

“So somewhere between home and school, he disappeared,” the sheriff said. “The first thing we should do is drive the route he would have taken and look for any sign of him.” 

Which was how Derek ended up in the passenger seat of the sheriff’s car, driving around the outskirts of town. 

“Are you sure this is the right road?” Derek asked. “It doesn’t seem very direct.” 

“The direct route can get quite busy. This way avoids the traffic. I’m pretty sure it’s the route Stiles would have taken.” 

Derek decided not to argue, so they fell into uncomfortable silence again. Derek stared out through the windows of the car as they drove slowly along. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking for. Unless he happened to see Stiles standing by the side of the road, he didn’t see how this was going to help. 

“There!” the sheriff said. Derek looked. Up ahead, a tow truck was pulled up in front of a battered old jeep, the mechanic working to hook the jeep up. The sheriff pulled his car up behind them and leapt out the instant the engine was cut. Derek followed. 

"Excuse me," the sheriff called out to the mechanic. “Can you tell me what happened here?” 

“I won’t know until I get it back to the garage,” the mechanic answered. “All he said was that the engine died on him again. This little baby is keeping my mortgage paid.” The man patted the side of the battered jeep in an almost affectionate way. 

“He?” the sheriff asked. “The driver?” 

“Yeah, Stiles called and said the car needed a tow.” 

“When was this?” 

“A couple of hours ago. I was in the middle of a service at the time and he said he was getting a lift, so I didn’t think there was any rush. Why?” 

“Stiles didn’t show up at school. I need to know everything he said to you.” 

“OK.” 

The man started talking, but it was a simple enough story. He’d got a phone call saying the car needed to come in and he’d given directions to where it had broken down. Nothing seemed unusual enough for the mechanic to notice and Derek got the feeling that this jeep had spent a lot of time in the mechanic’s tender care. 

While the man talked, Derek noticed something else. There was a smell that didn’t quite fit. They were surrounded by tree here, on the edge of the preserve, but there were fruity scents that weren’t quite right. Derek started walking towards the source of the smell, sniffing the air and trying to identify it. There was definitely fruit, but other things mixed in with it, nuts and honey and even fish. He couldn’t quite work it out. 

A few hundred metres down the road, he found the source. A couple of birds flew up from an upturned basket in the undergrowth. Derek crouched down. Spilling out from the basket were items of food. There was fruit, a pack of mixed nuts, some cookies and other things. The fish smell was coming from a small jar of pate that had broken on the ground. It had been a gift basket, and a pretty expensive one at that. 

A card was pinned under a ripe mango. Derek pulled it free and looked inside. 

_Derek. Missing you lots. Remember that you need to eat. Try not to kill anyone. Stiles._

Sheriff Stilinski came jogging up. 

“What have you found?” he asked. Derek showed him the card. 

“Stiles bought this for me. He wouldn’t have just thrown it out. Not by choice.” 

This killed the last hope Derek had that Stiles was just skiving off school. His car had broken down and he’d accepted a lift from someone else. Less than a few hundred metres down the road, Stiles’ gift had ended up in the undergrowth and now Stiles was gone. Derek didn’t have a clue how to find him. 

“What do we do next?” Derek asked. 

“Motive. We need to figure out why someone would take Stiles and whether this was a crime of opportunity or if it was pre-meditated. We should also drive a little further on, just in case Stiles was able to leave us some other sign.” 

“You think this might have been deliberate?” Derek gestured at the scattered basket. 

“Possibly. Come on.” 

The sheriff walked back to the car and Derek followed. The mechanic was done attaching the jeep to the tow truck and he promised to call the sheriff as soon as he knew anything about what was wrong with the jeep, just in case it was relevant. 

Back in the car, the sheriff stared for a moment at the jeep without starting the engine. Then he spoke. 

“I can’t believe Stiles would get into a stranger’s car. He’s smarter than that. He told the mechanic he was getting a lift to school.” 

“You think it was someone he knew?” 

“Maybe. We should call the school and see if anyone else didn’t show up.” 

“No. I’ll call my pack. They might also know if anyone from the school would have a reason to target Stiles.” 

Derek got out his phone and called Scott first. He heard Scott making apologies to someone, probably a teacher, and insisting that he had to take the phone call. A moment later, Scott spoke to him. 

“Sorry. I was in class. Do you have news?” 

Derek summarised what they’d found and asked Scott if anyone was missing. 

“I don’t think so,” Scott said. “I’ll check around and pass it along to Isaac and the others, but everyone else seems to be here.” 

“Was anyone late maybe?” 

“I ask.” 

“And think about whether anyone would want to hurt Stiles in some way.” 

“I will. I’ll call you.” 

Derek hung up. He was so frustrated he wanted to hurl the phone out of the car window. He couldn’t recall ever feeling so helpless. Stiles was out there somewhere, maybe hurt, maybe scared, maybe dead, and there wasn’t a damn thing Derek was able to do about it. Derek wanted to hit someone, to hurt someone, to make them feel the pain he was currently feeling. 

“Derek,” the sheriff said. His tone was gentle and Derek realised this was probably the first time the sheriff had called him by his first name. “Back at the station, you talked about Stiles but you didn’t call him your slave or your property. You called him your boyfriend.” 

“Yeah,” Derek said. He hadn’t really thought about it at the time. He and Stiles hadn’t talked about where they stood in this messed up relationship, but the word had seemed to fit and so Derek had used it. 

“That gift basket,” the sheriff went on, smiling sadly. “He always makes sure I’m eating properly too.” 

“He fusses,” Derek agreed. 

“We’ll find him, Derek. We’ll find him.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the shortness of the chapter, but the cliffhanger was too good to waste. Enjoy. :)

“Is everything OK?” 

The question broke Scott out of his thoughts and he looked up, seeing Allison sliding into the seat across from him. They were in the school cafeteria. Scott had been watching his phone, just in case Derek got in touch, and trying to figure out who might be behind this. Why would anyone want to take Stiles? 

Scott didn’t know how to answer Allison’s question. He was supposed to be keeping this quiet. So he just shrugged. 

“You keep staring at your phone,” she said. “It’s like you’re expecting to hear news that your dog’s dead or something.” 

“Or something,” Scott muttered. In other circumstances, he might have been amused by the implication that Stiles was his dog. Stiles had to come back and be OK because Scott would need to tell him this and mercilessly tease him for at least a month. Stiles had to be OK. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Allison asked. 

“I don’t even know how I can help.” 

“Maybe if you talk about it?” 

It would be nice to be able to vent some of his frustrations, but until they knew why Stiles had been taken, he couldn’t do anything. It was possible that if the kidnapping became public knowledge, Stiles would be in more danger. So Scott just shook his head. 

“Sorry. I can’t talk about it.” 

“That’s alright,” Allison said with a reassuring smile. “How about if you took your mind off it? We could maybe hang out after school?” 

Was she asking him out? The drop-dead-gorgeous new girl was smiling at him and suggesting they hang out in an entirely non-ironic, non-sarcastic way. Scott could only assume this was some werewolf power kicking in because this had never happened to him before. He wanted to scream yes and start cheering at the top of his voice, but he couldn’t think about this right now. His best friend was missing, possibly dead, and they still had to pretend business as usual and get things ready for the feast on Friday, because otherwise they’d all be in deadly danger. 

“I can’t,” Scott said. “Not right now. And please don’t think that it’s because I don’t want to, because I do. I really, really do. It’s just...” 

“Bad timing,” Allison finished off. “I get it. Some other time then.” 

She was still smiling, not looking at all offended that he’d just turned her down. She really was the perfect girl. 

“Definitely,” Scott said. 

***

Derek was back at the police station when the sheriff got a call from the mechanic. He’d worked out what was wrong with Stiles’ jeep. Apparently someone had stuck a device to the engine block that temporarily fried the electronics. 

“I took the thing off,” the mechanic said, “and now the jeep works perfe... now it works about as well as it ever does.” 

“So someone deliberately made the jeep break down?” the sheriff asked. 

“Looks that way. This thing looks like some pretty fancy kit. It’s not some cheap toy.” 

“Thanks. I’ll send a deputy round to collect the device for evidence.” 

The sheriff hung up the phone and then went to speak to one of his deputies about doing just that, while Derek thought about who could be behind this. Someone who would have reason to target Stiles, who would be able to get hold of expensive electronics and be able to pull something like this off. The list of possible suspects was shrinking. 

It seemed the sheriff was thinking along the same lines because he came back into the office and started drawing up a list of people who might have access to high-end electronics. There were a couple of electronics retailers as well as a hardware manufacturer in town; any of their employees might be able to get hold of something like this. It also seemed like something that could be weaponised, so they had to consider those with military contacts. 

The list grew longer very quickly, but Derek started working down it, trying to find any names he knew, anyone who might be interested in hurting him. They didn’t have names for everyone, just groups in places, but it was still a start. 

One name leapt off the list. Christopher Argent. The sheriff had included him because of his work with the military. Derek hadn’t realised the Argents were back in Beacon Hills, back in his territory. If he’d known they were here, he wouldn’t have wasted all this time chasing around for clues. There could be no one else who’d try something like this. 

Derek threw the list down on the desk and started for the door. 

“Did you recognise a name?” the sheriff asked, hurrying after him. “Alpha Hale, wait!” 

Derek ignored him. He went out to the parking lot to find the car he was using. He was inside and starting the engine as the sheriff came out of the station, still asking him to stop. Derek wasn’t going to wait another second. He wasn’t going to leave Stiles in the hands of those murdering bastards. 

***

Stiles huddled in the corner of the basement and gnawed at the ropes around his wrists. They were tied in such a way that he couldn’t reach the knots with his fingers, so he was trying to loosen them with his teeth. So far, he hadn’t had much success. Even if he managed to get his hands free, he still had to deal with the rope tied just as securely around his legs, not to mention the locked door. He knew how helpless it was, but he needed to at least try something. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been down here, trapped in the gloom. His watched was somewhere beneath layers of rope, so he couldn’t check the time. He guessed it was hours. He’d really hoped he’d have something more to show for his efforts than damp rope and a dry mouth. 

He hoped Derek was looking for him while at the same time hoping that Derek was nowhere near here. The people upstairs were werewolf killers. If Derek came to rescue him, there was no guarantee he’d get out alive. 

Somewhere beyond the door, there were footsteps on the stairs. Stiles quickly lowered his hands into his lap and tucked his knees up. Hopefully they wouldn’t spot the damp patch by the knots. If they figured out what he was attempting, his odds would become even slimmer. 

There was a click of the lock and the door opened. Chris Argent came in, along with a woman with short dark hair. She was carrying a plate and cup. While Chris locked the door behind them, the woman walked across to Stiles and set her cargo down on the floor by his side. Stiles looked at them, then back up at the woman, a sense of confused disbelief filling him. 

“You’re trying to bribe me,” he said, “with milk and cookies? Seriously?” 

It was Chris who spoke, “We were hoping you’d be in more of a mood to consider what we have to say.” 

Their earlier conversation had been less than civil. Stiles had attempted to bite Chris at one point, since he'd had nothing else available as a weapon. The growing bruise on Stiles' jaw was the only result that had come out of it. Stiles was no more interested in hearing their plans now than he had been when they'd first kidnapped him. These people were plotting against Derek and that made them his enemies. Instead of talking about their ridiculous plans, Stiles was looking at the cup and plate. They were both made of plastic. For a moment, he’d dared to hope that he could break them and have something he could use to cut the ropes. But of course his kidnappers wouldn’t be that stupid. 

He might need someone to come and rescue him after all. It was quite embarrassing that he was put in the role of damsel in distress, needing some knight in shining fur to come and rescue him. At least he knew his friends would be looking. 

“You know Derek will be looking for me,” Stiles said. “He knows my scent. It’s pungent.” 

He managed a grin. Chris looked exasperated. 

“Stiles, there’s no need for things to be difficult for you. We don’t want to hurt you.” 

“No, you just want me to kill Derek, which is never going to happen.” 

The woman turned to Chris, a surprised look passing between them. Stiles suspected he was missing something. Chris came over to him now, crouching down so that they were closer to a level. He gave what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile. 

“I can see where you’ve misunderstood,” Chris said. “Hale’s not the target. Whether he lives or dies makes no difference to us. We want you to kill Deucalion.”


	23. Chapter 23

“Ignoring for a moment the fact that you’re completely insane,” Stiles said, “how do you expect me to kill Deucalion? He’s some super-powerful werewolf that even alphas are afraid of.” 

“Exactly,” said Chris. “He won’t see you as a threat.” 

“Thanks,” Stiles muttered with a touch of bitterness. It was hard to be offended at the remark though since Stiles didn’t see how he could possibly be a threat to Deucalion. 

“During his visit, Deucalion will expect Hale to provide entertainment. Some of the entertainment is in the form of public events, but sometimes a werewolf provides more private entertainment to a visiting alpha. If you were to go to Deucalion and offer yourself to him, he’ll assume that Hale is providing your services as a gift. He’ll let his guard down.” 

Stiles suppressed a shudder at the thought of going to a strange werewolf and offering sex. 

“It still doesn’t mean I could do anything to him,” Stiles said. 

“That’s where we can help. We can give you a weapon poisoned with wolfsbane. One cut will weaken him and then you can use it to finish him off.” 

As plans went, it was only somewhat suicidal and insane. There was actually a slim chance it might work. That didn’t make Stiles any more inclined to listen to their insanity though. 

“You still haven’t explained why I’d help you,” Stiles said. “Why would I risk my life to kill someone? I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I don’t even know if I could.” 

“I’m asking you to do this, because we live in a country where a teenage boy can be used as a sex slave by a werewolf. The laws put werewolves above humans, and they allow for cruelties and injustices that can’t be tolerated.” 

“You think killing Deucalion will change that?” 

“Not right away,” Chris said, “but things will never change as long as someone like him rules the Council of Alphas. He murdered his own pack. Do you think he gives a damn about the sufferings of humans? The Council can change the laws, but first we need to change the Council.” 

Stiles started laughing. He hadn’t meant to, but somewhere in the middle of Chris’s speech, he’d thought about all the things Derek had said. There was so much similarity. Derek believed that the laws should change but that the change could only come from within the Council, it was just that Derek’s plan didn’t involve murder. 

“Is something funny?” asked the woman in a sour voice. 

“Just your entire plan. The law sucks, I agree, but I don’t think that murdering their leader will convince the other werewolves that humans deserve more rights.” 

“Stiles, think about this, please,” Chris said. “Think about what you could get from this. Your freedom.” 

“I’ll stick with Derek, thanks. At least he doesn’t tie me up in the basement.” 

“We can make a difference, Stiles. You can make a difference.” 

“No thanks. I’m different enough.” 

Stiles leaned back against the basement wall, waiting for them to leave him to stew again so he could keep working at the ropes. Chris sighed and stood. For a moment, Stiles thought he was going to get shut in here again, but the woman with Chris had a few things of her own to say. 

“You should reconsider, Stiles,” she said, “because we have a back-up plan. If we can manipulate the werewolves into having a challenge fight, there’s a chance Hale could kill Deucalion. Unfortunately, there are some aspects to the plan I really don’t think you’ll like.” 

She was goading him into asking, but Stiles asked anyway, “What sort of aspects?” 

“The best way to trigger a challenge is to make Hale appear weak. What better way than to show that he can’t look after his own property? If your beaten corpse is found somewhere public it will be an affront to the Hale pack.” 

Stiles felt a sick feeling of terror in the pit of his stomach and had to fight down the urge to vomit. He was sure a panic attack couldn’t be too far away. 

“Your back-up plan is to murder me to make Deucalion attack Derek?” 

“It’s not a perfect plan,” the woman said, “because there’s a strong chance Deucalion will kill Hale instead of the other way round, but if you won’t do what we want, our options are limited.” 

When Chris had talked about the need to change the laws, he’d sounded almost reasonable. Now this woman spoke in just as calm a tone only now she was talking about killing him and Derek. She was utterly insane, there could be no doubt about that. 

Stiles considered his options and they didn’t seem too good. His only real choice was to pretend to go along with their insane plan. They’d have to let him go if he was to kill Deucalion, so he just needed to bluff them into thinking they’d won him over. He just wished he’d gone along with Isaac’s idea about poker night; he could do with some bluffing practice right now. 

He couldn’t seem too keen. If he suddenly agreed to a plan he’d called insane five minutes ago, they weren’t likely to buy it. At least thinking about how to act would make it look like he was thinking about his options. 

“If I were to do what you ask,” Stiles said, “and I say ‘if’ because I still think it’s insane, no one else would get hurt?” 

“If you fail,” the woman said, “you will almost certainly die and Deucalion would assume Hale had sent you and kill him too. You’ll have to be careful not to fail.” 

"So those are my choices? Try to kill Deucalion and probably die or refuse and definitely die?” 

It was Chris who answered, trying to look comforting, “If you’re quick and careful, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t succeed.” 

“I don’t want to die,” Stile said. 

"This is important, Stiles,” Chris said. “There are werewolves out there much worse than Derek Hale who make their slaves lives a living hell. By taking out Deucalion, you will be helping those people get one step closer to freedom.” 

Stiles gave a reluctant nod. He looked away, but not before he saw the triumphant smile on the woman’s face. It looked like they’d bought it. They thought he’d agreed to their ridiculous plan. Stiles kept his face carefully miserable as the woman let herself out of the basement, presumably to get the promised weapon. 

Chris crouched down in front of Stiles and pulled a pocket knife out from somewhere. He gave a smile as he started to cut the ropes around Stiles’ wrists, but the smile never reached his eyes. A hard expression still resided there. 

“I’m glad you could be reasonable, Stiles,” Chris said, “but just so we’re clear, there are other ways to provoke a challenge, to make Hale seem weak. An attack on his territory perhaps, or his pack, or his staff. If you don’t keep up your end of this agreement, we’ll be forced to act and there’s a chance the humans will get hurt. Neither of us wants that.” 

The sick fear feeling was back again. How could this guy possibly think he was in the right? He was talking about attacking innocent people in order to maybe kill one man. Stiles found himself caught in a position where he didn’t have a good choice available to him. 

Chris cut away the ropes around Stiles’ legs and then offered a hand to help him up. Stiles stood, a little shakily, his legs tingling with pins and needles. He followed Chris to the basement stairs and up into the main house. The woman was waiting by the kitchen table, where Stiles’ phone and bag were waiting for him. She was holding a small, sheathed knife. For half a second, Stiles wondered if he should try stabbing these two the moment he had that knife in his hands. It seemed like a more reasonable way to prevent innocent deaths than anything they’d had in mind. 

But she didn’t give the knife to him. She opened up his bag and put the knife inside, tucking it away somewhere near the bottom. No doubt she’d anticipated his thoughts. There was no way Stiles could get the knife out without them seeing what he was doing and stopping him. So he played the compliant victim, accepting his bag and phone, letting himself be shown to the door. 

“Remember what we talked about, Stiles,” Chris said. “This is the best way, the cleanest way.” 

It was easy for him to say. His hands weren’t the ones about to get bloodied. Stiles said nothing. He had to let them think they’d won so he could get out of here. Chris seemed to buy it. At least, he opened the door. 

Stiles hurried out into the fresh air. He’d never been so relieved to be outside in his life. He took his phone and powered it up. He needed to let Derek know what was going on. 

His phone bleeped with missed calls and messages. Hundreds of them, from his dad, from Derek, from Scott, from the rest of the pack. He changed his plans. He needed to call his dad and let him know he was alright, _then_ he’d call Derek. 

“Stiles!” 

A car door slammed. Stiles spun round towards the voice and was enveloped in a fierce hug. Derek was there, holding him close, but gently, as though afraid to break him. Stiles’ arms were trapped at his sides by Derek’s so the best he could manage was a reassuring pat on Derek’s side. 

“If you’re the cavalry riding in to the rescue,” Stiles said, “you’re a little late.” 

“Did the Argents hurt you?” Derek asked. 

“I’m fine, but we need to talk. And you’re going to need to let go of me at some point.” 

Derek finally let go of the hug. He moved backwards by less than half a step, still close enough that Stiles could feel the warmth of his body. Derek brought a hand up to Stiles’ face, brushing fingers lightly over the sore patch where Chris had hit him. 

Derek turned abruptly and charged up the driveway to the Argents’ house. 

“Derek!” Stiles called. When Derek didn’t respond, Stiles hurried after him. Derek burst through the front door and, by the time Stiles got there, had Chris pinned against the wall. One of Derek’s hands was at Chris’ throat, not quite pressing hard enough to choke. The woman was there, standing in the kitchen doorway. She had a crossbow in her hand and was aiming it at Derek’s head. 

“You can’t hurt me,” Chris said. “This is my house, my territory. If you kill me here, my allies will make you pay under your own laws.” 

“You took Stiles,” Derek snarled. 

“I gave him a lift, talked to him and let him go. I think the people of Beacon Hills would be rather shocked to learn that would be enough for you to kill someone. I don’t think it would do much for the peace in this town.” 

Chris was far too calm for someone who had an angry Derek looming in his face. Stiles had a feeling he was looking at someone who could play poker with a werewolf. The woman hadn’t moved. She could have shot Derek already if she was going to, but she hadn’t lowered her weapon either. 

"You hurt him," Derek said. 

“He already had a bruise on his face and claw marks on his arm,” Chris said. “I don’t think you’d look good if you wanted to discuss the injuries of your teenaged sex slave.” 

“The term is ‘body slave’,” Stiles said. He had to say something because otherwise Derek might kill Chris or get shot or both. Chris had won this round. He was right that Derek couldn’t hurt him without appearing like a rampaging monster to the people of Beacon Hills. Derek couldn’t afford unrest right now, not with the visit looming. If the people in his territory started protesting against the local werewolves, it would be the sign of weakness Deucalion needed. 

“Come on, Derek,” said Stiles. “We’ve talked about this whole ripping-throats-out-thing. It’s not polite.” 

Derek turned away from Chris to give Stiles a look that was equal part annoyed and amused. Derek lowered his hand from Chris’ throat. For a moment, Stiles thought it was over. 

Then Derek punched Chris in the jaw. Chris slid sideways along the wall and slumped to the ground. There was a twang as the crossbow released and then Derek was standing there, holding the crossbow bolt and glaring at the woman. Derek squeezed and the bolt fell to the ground in two pieces. Derek gave one last look at Chris. 

“A bruise for a bruise,” he said. “Touch Stiles again and it will be far worse.” 

Derek stalked towards the door, grabbing Stiles’ arm on the way and practically towing him from the house. Stiles hurried after him, because any other option would result in his arm being yanked from its socket. Derek didn’t seem to notice. 

“Derek, hey! Slow down! You’re going to need to punch yourself in the arm if you don’t loosen your grip.” 

Derek finally slowed, the fingers loosening their hold. Stiles rubbed at his arm. 

“We need to talk,” Stiles said, “but first I need to call my dad before he explodes from worry.” 

“I’ll take you to the station,” Derek said. He led the way to a car. Stiles hadn’t noticed before but now he found himself smirking at the sight of Derek getting into something so ordinary. It was a far cry from his flash Camaro. 

Stiles wasn’t sure how long the call to his dad would take, so he sent Scott a quick text saying that he was alive and safe. Then he dialled his dad. 

“Stiles?” his dad’s voice was scared and frantic. 

“It’s me. I’m fine.” 

“Did Derek find you?” 

“Only after I’d got myself out. Most ineffective rescue ever.” 

Beside him, Derek made a semi-amused growling noise and Stiles chuckled. Derek took his eyes from the road long enough to glare. 

“We’re on our way to you now,” Stiles said. “We’ll talk then.” 

He hung up before his dad could keep him on the phone. Stiles wanted to explain the situation to Derek before getting his father involved. Stiles quickly summed up everything that had happened, including the conversations with Chris, the mission they’d given him and the threats they’d made should he fail to carry it out. 

Derek listened in silence. 

When Stiles finished, the silence filled the car. Stiles waited for a response. Derek was glaring at the road ahead, his grip so tight that Stiles was surprised the steering wheel didn’t break. The silence lingered. 

When Stiles could bear it no more, he asked the question that was burning in his mind. 

“Would it work?” he asked. “If I killed Deucalion, would it make things better?” 

“No,” Derek answered instantly. “Even if you could fool him long enough to get close, which is unlikely, the other werewolves would assume it was an act of cowardice on my part. Deucalion’s pack would kill me. And you.”


	24. Chapter 24

Stiles was getting thoroughly hugged. That his dad hugged him was unsurprising. That Scott hugged him was a sign that he’d been really worried. All of that Stiles had expected. He hadn’t expected Isaac to hug him. Even Cora patted him on the back, which was a huge sign of enthusiasm from her. 

Derek had called a council of war for the pack. They had it at Stiles’ house, since the staff at the compound knew Stiles had gone home for the week and the rumours would fly if he turned up there now. Stiles’ dad was part of the meeting, since he’d insisted that he wasn’t going to be left out of something that was putting his son at risk. Stiles supposed it was a good sign that his dad no longer seemed nervous about arguing with Derek. 

So that pack sat or stood around Stiles’ living room while Stiles told his story yet again. He was sat on the couch, Derek’s arm wrapped around him as though Derek was afraid to let go. The others took what chairs were available or just lurked against the walls where they could listen. Stiles already told Derek and his dad, and he was wondering how many times he’d have to go over it. This time, he had to deal with considerably more interruptions. He’d barely got started when the first interruption came. He said that the man had introduced himself Chris Argent. 

“Argent?” Scott asked. 

“Are you sure?” Cora asked, shooting a worried look towards Stiles. Stiles got the feeling he was missing something. 

“That’s what he said,” Stiles said, “and I saw him at the school picking up Allison.” 

“They were Argents,” Derek said, his voice a low growl. 

Stiles’ dad had been standing near the door, on the outside of the group. He took a step forward now as he joined in the conversation. 

“You recognised the name back in my office. You knew it was them as soon as you saw it. How?” 

There was a moment of silence. Cora wasn’t meeting anyone’s eyes. Scott, Isaac and Erica looked as confused as Stiles felt. Beside him, Derek was tense. His hand tightened against Stiles’ arm, not quite enough to hurt. 

“One story at a time,” Derek said. “Stiles, keep going.” 

So Stiles carried on his story, about realising something was wrong after calling the mechanic and how he’d thrown out the gift basket in the hope that someone would spot and it and figure out what had happened. 

“Gift basket?” asked Isaac. 

Stiles had a horrible suspicion he was blushing as he said, “I bought it as a present for Derek.” Isaac started smirking. 

“Someone’s got it bad,” Isaac said. 

“Given your history of present-buying,” Stiles said, “you should shut up right now.” 

Isaac looked like he might have made another comment. Stiles could practically see the thoughts working as Isaac considered saying something about Stiles using the present. But Isaac obviously thought better of it and fell silent, waiting for Stiles to continue. 

Stiles managed to get through the rest of the tale despite the others constantly joining in with questions or comments. When he got to the point of Chris’ plan, there were general exclamations against it. Then Stiles went on to the threats Chris had made should Stiles fail to carry out the planned murder. The pack looked horrified. 

“He threatened to kill innocent people just for a chance that Derek might kill Deucalion?” Scott asked. Stiles nodded. 

“I guess disregard for innocent life runs in the family,” Cora muttered. 

"What are you on about?" Isaac asked. 

An unreadable look passed between Cora and Derek. Derek made no sign he planned to speak, so it was Cora who eventually answered the question. 

“The Argents are hunters,” she said. “Werewolf hunters. The whole family train in how to kill us. Kate Argent killed most of our family, including children and those who were born human. She didn’t care how many got slaughtered.” 

Silence settled over the room again. No one was really looking at each other as the impact of Cora’s words were felt. Stiles hadn’t known and should have done. He’d known that there’d been a fire and that was why Derek’s sister Laura had become the alpha so young. He hadn’t known it had been deliberately set, that the fire had been the murder of so many. No wonder Derek’s compound always had such strict security. 

“Do you think they’d do it again?” Isaac asked. “If Stiles refuses to kill Deucalion, I mean.” 

“They might do anything,” Derek answered. “They might set fire to the compound, or set a bomb at the feast, or kill an off-duty member of staff, or even just some random act of violence with a big sign saying that I can’t stop them. They could do anything that would make me look weak. And there’s only so much we can prepare for.” 

“Can’t you just arrest him?” Erica asked, turning to Stiles’ dad. “He’s human so why don’t we let human law deal with him?” 

It wasn’t a bad thought. If something went wrong, Derek could lay the blame on the Sheriff’s department. It would suck for Stiles and his dad, but would give Derek an excuse and prevent a confrontation with Deucalion. 

“With what evidence?” Stiles’ dad asked. “I can’t arrest him for kidnap because I kept it quiet when Stiles was missing. I could arrest him for threatening terrorist action but the only evidence we have is Stiles’ word. Any judge in the country would throw out the case.” 

Stiles was going over the conversations in his mind and had to add, “Chris Argent talked about allies. Even if we could arrest him and get him out of the way, someone else could do whatever it is they’re planning on doing.” 

There was another drawn out silence as they considered their situation. When the conversation restarted, it was with a gloomy tone that bounced ideas around only to have them fall into a void of hopelessness. Stiles was feeling more despondent with every minute that passed. A part of him had hoped that there was some way out of this he just hadn’t seen, but it seemed that no one else could see it either. 

He wasn’t going to kill Deucalion. That had never been an option. 

They could attack the Argents, but without knowing who their allies were, they couldn’t be sure of stopping whatever their plan was. If they got the law involved, it was possible the Argents would publically paint this as weakness from Derek. Erica suggested that they capture Chris Argent and hand him over to Deucalion. 

“We tell him what Argent had planned and let Deucalion deal with it.” 

Derek shook his head, “Evidence again. All Argent would have to do is demand a public trial and everything falls apart. He could just say that I’m making it up and scaring Stiles into lying for me.” 

The debate raged on. At one point, they called a break to order take out. Stiles thought about what this would be like in the compound, where a call to the kitchen would have a sumptuous feast appearing at the table within minutes. Stiles went to help his dad getting plates and stuff from the kitchen for when the food arrived. His dad gave him a long look, filled with sadness and concern. 

“How did this all get so complicated?” he asked. 

"I think it always was complicated,” Stiles answered, “it’s just that we weren’t involved.” 

His dad sighed, “Are you sure running away to Sweden isn’t an option?” 

“If we did that, we’d be doing the Argents’ work for them. Derek would look weak and Deucalion would challenge him.” 

“And you’re not going to consider just letting it happen, are you?” 

A new voice interrupted from the kitchen doorway: “I wouldn’t blame you.” 

Stiles spun round, seeing Derek standing there. How long had he been listening to them? 

“I’m not running away,” Stiles said. 

“It could be your best way out of this,” Derek said. “The Argents will do everything in their power to make me look weak anyway. If they attack, a runaway slave isn’t going to make much of a difference. It would keep you safe.” 

“I’m not running away, Derek. We’ve talked about this.” 

“That was before. The situation is different now. If things come to violence with Deucalion, I might not be able to protect you.” 

“I can look after myself,” Stiles protested. 

Derek gave him a very eloquent look. Stiles could translate it as Derek’s, “Stop being an idiot, Stiles,” look. He saw it quite often. 

“You got kidnapped going to school,” Derek said. 

“The point is that I’m not going to leave you deal with this alone. We’re in this together, Derek.” 

Stiles wasn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe some romantic moment. Maybe Derek expressing actual feelings towards him at those words. It should have been some great moment in their relationship together that brought them closer together. Instead, Derek sighed and turned to Stiles’ dad, saying, “I don’t suppose you’d consider drugging and kidnapping him?” 

“Hey!” Stiles protested. 

His dad ignored him, answering Derek: “I did consider it, but I’d never get him out of the country.” 

“Hey!” Stiles complained again. 

Anything else they might have said was interrupted by the food arriving. Stiles’ dad went to accept it and then everyone gathered back in the living room, eating their dinner and continuing to talk in circles in search of an answer. Could they fight the Argents? Could the make preparations against possible attacks? Could they pre-emptively challenge Deucalion as a pack? 

“Can we just try talking to Mr Argent?” Scott asked. Everyone turned to look at him. Cora was giving him such a look of disbelief that he might have sprouted a second head or something. Scott wasn’t about to be put off. He continued speaking. 

“We keep talking about fighting and how to capture or stop him but maybe we should just try talking to him. He thinks that taking out Deucalion would make things better, but we know it won’t. Why don’t we just try convincing him that he’s wrong?” 

“Talking to him would just tip him off to the fact that Stiles isn’t going to kill Deucalion,” Derek said. “He’ll have more time to work on the back-up plan.” 

“He’ll be doing that anyway,” Scott argued. “If we can talk him out of his plan, or at least make sure he doesn’t put innocents at risk, that’s got to be worth a shot.” 

“It’s not just him,” Stiles said. “Maybe we could talk some sense into him, but his wife was freaking scary. I can’t see her letting up.” 

“What if I try to talk to Chris Argent alone?” Scott asked. 

“And how would you pull that off?” 

“Allison already invited me to hang out with her sometime. If we went back to her house, I could try and get her dad alone and talk to him.” 

If Scott had been sitting closer, Stiles would have whacked him round the head for his stupidity. 

“Does it not occur to you that she might have been asking you to hang out so that her dad could do to you what he did to me?” Stiles asked. 

From the look on Scott’s face, it hadn’t occurred to him. 

“I’m sure Allison wouldn’t do anything like that.” 

“You’ve known her two days,” Isaac put in. “Just because she’s hot, doesn’t mean you can trust her.” 

"All I'm saying is that I can use her invitation to talk to her dad,” Scott said. “That’s all.” 

“So it has nothing to do with the fact you think she’s hot?” Isaac asked. Scott hesitated. 

“No one is going anywhere near Chris Argent,” Derek said, “or any other Argent.” He shot Scott a glare. “Especially you, Scott. I dread to think what might happen if the Argents figure out that you’re a werewolf.” 

“What?” Stiles’ dad interrupted. “Scott’s a werewolf? When did that happen?” 

Stiles had just about forgotten that his dad didn’t know that piece of the situation. From the look on Derek’s face, he’d forgotten too. Now it was Scott’s turn to glare at Derek for letting out the big secret. 

“What else don’t I know?” Stiles’ dad asked, staring hard at each of them in turn. “I think I’ve been more than patient but if I’m going to be involved in all your secret planning, I need to know everything.” 

Derek’s expression was unreadable as he thought this over but eventually he nodded. 

“We should start with Uncle Peter,” he said. 

Stiles settled back on the couch as Derek started the story. This was going to be a long night.


	25. Chapter 25

"Stiles, are you awake?" 

“Uh huh.” 

Stiles sat at his computer screen, staring at lists of names and collections of notes, trying to pull the pieces together into something that made sense. He’d barely slept, his mind still racing in frustrated circles, so now he was trying to put some of that frustration into use. There had to be some clue here, something they could use to figure out what the Argents were planning for when Stiles refused to kill. 

“Stiles, I’m cooking breakfast. Are you hungry?” 

“Uh huh.” 

The Argents wanted to make Derek look weak, there could be no doubt about that, because that was what would trigger a confrontation with Deucalion. But Chris had also talked about his allies and what it would look like if those allies made public that Derek had killed a man in his home. He’d also mentioned Stiles’ position and his injuries. The slavery laws were the biggest sore point about this whole situation and could be a trigger to huge anger among the humans of Beacon Hills. Chris Argent was trying to start a revolution so Deucalion’s death wasn’t going to be enough. 

“Stiles, your food’s ready.” 

“Uh huh.” 

The Argents could attack the compound, but that was incredibly difficult. Derek kept the place secure and everything would be tightened because of the visit. If the Argents could pull some off, that would be a major blow against the Hale pack, challenging their strength in the heart of their territory. But it wouldn’t be easy. 

Stiles was considering the possibility that they had someone on the inside. He was going through the names of everyone on the compound staff list and everyone who’d had access to the building since Deucalion’s visit was announced. There had to be some sign. If someone was working for werewolf hunters, there had to be something to give it away. So Stiles was trawling the internet for anything he could find about their backgrounds. 

“Stiles, your breakfast is getting cold.” 

“Uh huh.” 

It wasn’t easy because people didn’t tend to announce on their public profiles that they liked to go around killing werewolves, but Stiles could look through Facebook pictures, job records on LinkedIn and every other source he could find to try and piece together a profile of the staff members. The problem was there were so many. A werewolf hunter could sneak in as a janitor or cook or gardener and get close enough to... to do something devastating. 

Stiles kept thinking that a bomb or something would be the easiest sort of attack to organise, but Derek had the pack hunting the compound thoroughly for anything out of place and he’d be searching himself right before Deucalion’s arrival. It would be very difficult to hide a bomb from a wolf pack. 

“Stiles, are you listening to me?” 

“Uh huh.” 

The door opened. Stiles looked up in surprise from his computer to see his dad standing in the bedroom doorway, holding a plate. 

“Oh,” said Stiles. “I didn’t realise you were awake.” 

“I’ve been talking to you for the past twenty minutes.” 

“Oh.” 

“I guess that answers the question of whether you were listening to me,” his dad said. He came into the room, holding out the plate, which turned out to contain toast and scrambled eggs. 

“What time is it?” Stiles asked. 

“Time you were going to school.” 

“I just need to finish this.” 

“No. You’re going to eat your breakfast, get dressed and go to school. Don’t even think about arguing with me. Everything you learned about stubbornness, you got from me.” 

Stiles paused only a moment before he took the plate and started eating. Given how often he argued with his dad about the relative merits of vegetables verses curly fries, it would be hypocritical for him to argue now. He did briefly consider arguing about the school thing so that he could keep going with the research, but his dad wasn’t going to be swayed. 

So Stiles went to school, even if his brain was still running through possibilities of the Argents’ back up plan. It could be almost anything. If they chose not to go for the compound, they could attack someone connected to Derek. Attacking a staff member or someone like that would be a sign that Derek couldn’t protect his own. Most of the staff would be at the compound helping out with the visit, but that was still a possibility to consider. But what if they went for something different? They could plant a bomb at the school or something, since most of the pack went here and Derek had made several very public donations of funds. It would be a bit roundabout, but it could be painted in such a way as to destabilise Derek. 

“Stiles, you’ve not heard a word I’ve said, have you?” 

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts. He was standing next to his locker while Scott waved a hand in front of his face. 

“You were talking about... no, I’ve no idea,” Stiles admitted. 

“I was talking about Friday and the plans for the visit. It’s kind of important, in case you haven’t noticed.” 

“What I was doing was important too.” 

“You were staring into space.” 

“I was thinking. You might want to try it sometime.” 

“Hilarious,” Scott said sourly. “So what were you thinking about?” 

“I’m trying to work out what the Argents might be planning for when I don’t kill Deucalion.” 

“I still think I should try to get close to Allison to see if I can learn something from her.” 

Stiles shot him a withering look, “We all know why you want to get close to Allison. Don’t even think about it.” 

Scott sighed and the two slunk into class together, where Stiles spent the lesson ignoring the teacher and trying to think of other things the Argents might try to do. They were assuming violence but they could stage a peaceful protest. They wouldn’t risk hurting any humans but it would be a sign of discontent in the town and that would look bad for Derek. After all, the main point was to make Derek look bad to Deucalion and if he couldn’t control his townspeople, that would be bad. Plus, stirring up anti-werewolf feelings would be in the hunters’ best interests. 

“Stilinski!” 

Stiles jumped out of his skin as his name was screamed across the classroom by Coach. 

“Huh? Wha?” 

“Stilinski! Would it kill you to pay attention?” Coach demanded. 

“Quite possibly,” Stiles answered. Given that his life was at risk unless he could figure out this hunter issue, it probably wasn’t a lie. 

“Well you’re killing me a little inside every time you sit staring into space when I’m trying to teach so focus. You got that, Stilinski?” 

“Yeah. I’ve got that.” 

Stiles really did try and focus for the rest of the lesson. It wasn’t easy because the threat of his impending death was still looming in the back of his mind. He had to work out what Chris Argent was planning because otherwise people would get hurt and then Derek would fight Deucalion and probably die and then Stiles would be dead and his friends along with him. 

He made it through the next few hours without taking in a single fact in any of his classes but without having any bursts of insight into his problem. There were too many variables. He was starting to think that Scott might have a point about someone needing to go into the Argents’ house and look for information. Not Scott, of course, he’d be hopelessly distracted, but someone. 

Scott dragged him down to lunch. Stiles was still thinking, but he was aware enough of his surroundings to notice when they passed Allison. 

“Hi, Scott,” she said. Scott’s step faltered for a second but then he kept walking. 

“Are you OK?” Stiles asked, once the two of them were in the canteen queue and well away from Allison. Scott nodded, but he didn’t look alright. In fact he looked ridiculously upset for someone who’d only known the girl two days. Stiles had bigger problems right now than his friend’s infatuation, so he went back into his thoughts. 

Who were Chris Argent’s allies? Could they work out who he was working with and figure this out by that route? Part of this problem was that they didn’t know who exactly they were dealing with. If they could identify those people, maybe the pack could step in before anything bad happened. 

“Are you angry with me?” Allison asked, interrupting Stiles’ thoughts and slipping into a seat on their table. She was looking at Scott and for a moment Stiles considered zoning her out again, but she could be key to this. 

“You should probably sit somewhere else,” Scott said. 

“Why? Have I done something to upset you?” 

“Not _you_ ,” Scott answered. 

“What does that mean?” 

“Try asking your dad.” 

Allison looked genuinely confused and more than a little upset. 

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Did my dad say something to you about me? I know he can be a little intense...” 

Stiles gave a snort of laughter. It hadn’t been intentional but now Allison seemed to notice him for the first time, a little anger creeping into her expression. 

“What was that about?” she demanded. 

“Your dad kidnapped me, locked me in the basement and threatened to kill me,” Stiles said. 

There was a moment of pure bewilderment on her face. Then it turned into a glare. 

“You’re insane,” she told Stiles. Then she stood and stopped angrily off to join Lydia at a different table. Scott was staring after her, the sad puppydog look in his eyes. 

“Maybe she really doesn’t know what her father does,” Scott said. 

“Her parents are plotting the assassination of a werewolf leader. How could she not know?” 

Stiles made it through the rest of the school day and then returned to his computer and his notes. The answer had to be in here somewhere. He worked away at it, poking through the detritus of information. He only stopped when his dad literally dragged him away from the computer and told him to go to bed, but his mind was still racing, still hunting for the clue that would unravel the mystery. 

He eventually drifted off to sleep, the names of the compound staff still circling in his mind. 

***

Stiles snapped awake. 

The answer had materialised in a moment of clarity. He fumbled in the darkness for a light switch and then blinked away the momentary blindness until he could see his phone. Somehow in the depths of sleep, his subconscious had found the connections he’d been missing. 

He pulled up the number from the contacts list and called. 

Seconds later, a voice answered. 

“Stiles? Is something wrong?” Derek sounded worried, and far too awake for someone who’d been called at three in the morning. Clearly he hadn’t been in asleep, which Stiles would berate him for later. 

“I know what the Argents are planning,” Stiles said. “I’ve figured out what their back up plan is, how they’re going to undermine you. I know who they’re going to kill.” 

“Stiles, slow down. What have you worked out?” 

“Kelly. The girl from the kitchens. They’re going to kill her.”


	26. Chapter 26

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin when he realised that his bedroom window was being opened from the outside. He was halfway to yelling for help when he recognised the figure who dropped in through the opening. 

“Derek!” Stiles hissed. “You could have given me a heart attack.” 

“We didn’t want to wake your dad,” Derek said. He moved away from the window and Scott climbed in behind him. 

“I think my dad would be more freaked out about guys climbing in through my bedroom window in the middle of the night.” 

“So what’s your theory about the Argents? Why would they target the kitchen girl?” 

Stiles started from the top, hoping it would make sense of the leaps of logic that had come to him in his sleep. 

“What do the Argents want?” Stiles asked. 

“Deucalion dead,” Derek answered. 

“No. That’s a means to an end. What’s the end goal?” 

There was a moment’s pause while they both thought, then Scott answered, “A change in the laws. Equality between humans and werewolves.” 

“Bingo,” said Stiles. “There’s an old quote, I can’t remember who said it, about how an oppressed people never got their freedom by waiting for their oppressors to give it to them. They’ve always had to fight for their rights. Getting Deucalion out of the way won’t change the laws, it will just make it easier to change them. They still need to cause enough of a stir to convince the werewolves that a change is necessary. The Argents don’t just want Deucalion dead. They want me to kill him. It makes a better story because everyone will assume I was under Derek’s orders. ‘Werewolf forces his teenaged sex slave to become a murderer.’ It makes a good headline.” 

Scott was nodding his understanding, “And there are already rumours around the compound about how Derek beats you and punishes you.” 

“People will buy it,” Stiles said. “The Argents turn it into an outcry about werewolves and whoever takes over from Deucalion is forced to change the rules, at least a little, to calm people down.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why you think the kitchen girl is a target,” said Derek. “She doesn’t even work for me anymore.” 

“I know that. She was at the compound as a summer job and now that school’s started she’s left. That means she’s not involved in the preparations for the visit so she won’t be there, where she would be protected by security and pack and everyone else. She’ll be vulnerable.” 

“The same applies to a lot of people who’ve worked for me,” Derek said. “Why her?”

“Scott said it: rumours. People in the compound know that she had a crush on me and the stories were going around that you found out and got jealous.” Stiles gestured at his arm, which still held the healing marks left by Erica’s claws. “The Argents kill her and make it look like a werewolf attack, and everyone in town will think you killed her in a jealous rage. It doesn’t matter if there’s evidence, people will believe the story. ‘Werewolf killed innocent girl because she had a crush on his teenaged sex slave.’” 

“Everyone in town will hate me.” 

“Everyone in the country,” Stiles said. “It doesn’t matter if Deucalion thinks you did it or thinks you’ve been framed, you will have allowed this to happen on your territory and that will be a pretty major weakness in his eyes. He’ll have to challenge you. Whether you win or lose, the Argents can paint that as werewolves solving everything with violence.” 

“It’s a good theory,” Derek said, “and it makes a lot of sense, but you can’t be certain that this is their plan.” 

“I am certain. Remember the things Chris Argent said when you confronted him? He was talking about how things would look if they became common knowledge. He’s going to make a public spectacle out of whatever happens.” 

“You’re probably right about that, but we still can’t be sure that this girl is the target.” 

“Derek, I am absolutely confident of this. If I don’t kill Deucalion, they will kill Kelly and make it look like you did it. We have to protect her. We have to warn her.” 

“No,” said Derek. 

“No?” Stiles fought to keep his voice low because yelling at Derek would wake up his dad. “The only thing she’s done is be nice to me. We have to help her.” 

Derek shook his head. “There’s no evidence and if we’re seen approaching her the Argents will just come up with some other plan and someone else will get hurt. If we’re going to stop the werewolf hunters, we have to catch them in the act of committing a crime.” 

“You’re talking about using Kelly as bait?” For a moment, Stiles seriously considered hitting Derek. Kelly was nice. She’d not done anything wrong apart from getting a crush on the wrong guy. She didn’t deserve to be caught up in all this. 

"We watch her,” Derek said. “After the feast, the pack will take shifts guarding her. If the werewolf hunters attack, then we defend her and then we have evidence your father can use to arrest them under human laws.” 

“We need to start watching her now,” Stiles said. 

“The Argents will wait until after the feast,” Derek said, “to see if you hold up your side of the arrangement.” 

“But they might kidnap her beforehand, take her away somewhere to kill her without being caught. Derek, please, we have to keep her safe.” 

There were few things that Stiles had ever needed so desperately as he need to protect Kelly now. If she got hurt, it would be because of him, and that wasn’t something Stiles could cope with. He’d put her in danger, just by being there, and so now he had to make sure she was alright. 

“Fine,” Derek said. “I’ll get the pack to watch her now. The whole pack are expected to be there for Deucalion’s arrival and the feast, but Scott can take over the watch then. It might be better if he’s away from the feast; then there’s no chance Deucalion will realise he’s a werewolf.” 

Derek looked towards Scott, who nodded his agreement. As simple as that, it was arranged. Stiles could breathe again. 

***

As promised, the pack took their turns watching Kelly. Derek had called the school and told them that he might need to take the werewolves out of class sometimes to prepare for the big visit. By now, everyone in town was talking about the impending arrival of the alpha. Stiles had to go to school as normal, listening to the rest of the pack as they discussed the preparations and the guard duty. So far, no one threatening had been anywhere near Kelly. Stiles guessed this meant that the werewolf hunters were waiting until after the feast. 

School went by in a haze of distractions and then, as the end of Friday approached, time seemed to slow down. Stiles found himself staring at the clock, willing the seconds to go faster so he could just get this over with. He didn’t want to face Deucalion, but he wasn’t sure he could handle the waiting anymore. 

After what felt like forever, the final bell rang. Stiles hurried to his locker, Scott beside him. Scott would be heading off for the next stint of guard duty, watching over Kelly. 

“Scott, Stiles, can I talk to you?” Allison approached them in the school hallway. Scott turned to her. Stiles thought Scott was about to declare that of course she could and melt into a bubbling goo of attraction that overruled common sense. Thankfully there was still a modicum of brain functionality going on. 

“This isn’t a good time,” Scott said. 

“I know, but I want to talk to you about my dad.” 

The two guys hesitated. Stiles wondered for about half an instant if she might know something useful that they could get out of her, but it was more likely that her dad had sent her to give them false information, or maybe to spy on them to figure out how much they knew. 

“We’ve got places to be,” Stiles said. He grabbed Scott by the elbow and steered him out. Scott waited until they were out of earshot before he started to argue. 

“What if she was trying to help us?” he asked. 

“And what if she is working with daddy to get us all killed?” 

“I don’t think Allison would do that.” 

“Scott, stop thinking with your pants for five minutes, please.” 

“It’s just... she doesn’t seem the sort of person who’d...” 

Stiles hit Scott round the head. 

"Come on," Stiles said. "You've got guard duty and I've got an evening of pretending to be well-behaved and obedient to look forward to.” 

“We’re all doomed,” Scott said. Stiles considered hitting him round the head again. 

***

Stiles drove his jeep to the compound. He took his shoes and socks off before he even left the car. He couldn’t afford any mistakes today. He walked up to Derek’s suite as a barefooted slave. 

Inside the suite, Derek was sitting at the dining table, checking the arrangements for the visit one final time. He wasn’t overly formal in his appearance but he’d made enough of an effort for him to look not quite like his usual self. He had a clean shirt and a clean shave, making him look slightly alien in this familiar place. He looked up at Stiles. 

“Hi,” Stiles said. 

“Hi.” There was a moment of awkwardness then Derek said, “I got you something to wear tonight.” 

He gestured at a bag on the table. Stiles got the items out and went into the small bedroom to change. It was a simple enough outfit, just black pants and a black top. They were made of a stretchy fabric that clung to him like a second skin and left nothing to the imagination. Stiles was feeling self-conscious before he’d even stepped out of the bedroom. He had to tell himself that the focus would be on Derek, not him. 

Something of what he was feeling must have been written on his face when he emerged back into the main room of the suite. 

“You can still back out, if you want,” Derek said. 

“No. I’m seeing this through with you.” 

Derek stood and walked over. He put his arms around Stiles in a gesture that was uncharacteristically gentle. They stood for a moment in that quiet hug. Then Derek pulled away, his face dark and serious. 

“If Deucalion challenges me,” Derek said, “if he kills me, promise you’ll run. Go with your dad, get as far away as you can and just stay safe. Deucalion will focus on the pack. You might have a chance.” 

“It’s not going to come to that.” 

“But if it does,” Derek insisted, “promise me you’ll run.” 

“I promise. Just... try not to get killed.” 

Derek smiled slightly and placed a quick, chaste kiss on Stiles’ lips. 

“I promise,” Derek said. 

There came a tap on the door and then Cora poked her head inside. 

“The motorcade’s nearly here,” she said. “It’s time.” 

Stiles took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. Derek reached out and gave his shoulder a brief squeeze. He took the silver collar and fastened it around Stiles’ neck, the chain resting in his hand. They walked together down to the audience chamber. 

The press were already in their roped off corner and the camera flashes started the second Derek came into view. Stiles did his best to ignore the blinding lights as he walked a step behind Derek. The alpha werewolf sank into his chair and Stiles took his place beside him, kneeling on the cushion that had been made ready for him. Stiles placed his hands on his knees and tried to be invisible. 

The rest of Derek’s pack came in, standing along the wall. Cora, Erica and Isaac looked calm, impassive. Their faces were blank masks, as though today meant nothing. Stiles wondered if their hearts were racing as much as his. 

That moment seemed to last forever. Stiles kept his motionless place by sheer force of will because he knew that moving now would make Derek look bad. So he waited and tried to simply breathe through the terror. 

Then the main doors opened. Deucalion had arrived.


	27. Chapter 27

Deucalion was preceded by some strange noises. There was a rhythmic tapping and an odd clacking sound. When Deucalion walked through the doors, Stiles saw the reasons behind both of these noises. Deucalion walked with a cane, swinging it back and forth to tap against the floor in a steady pattern. His hand was through the arm of a woman who walked by his side. She was barefoot but there could be no possibility of mistaking her for a slave. Her feet were partly transformed and her claws wrapped against the marble with every step. Behind them, about half a dozen humans kept a respectful distance, but Stiles’ gaze was fixed on the werewolves. 

It was hard to believe that this blind man was the alpha who everyone was so afraid of. Stiles dismissed that thought quickly. He was in no position to judge people based on appearance. If Derek thought this guy was dangerous, then he was. 

The pair stopped in front of Derek’s chair and each bowed their heads ever so slightly, just enough to be respectful. Stiles didn’t turn to look, but he was sure Derek was bowing his head a precisely calculated amount. From the corner of the room, the camera flashes went crazy. 

“Welcome,” Derek said, his voice calm and controlled. 

“We thank you for your hospitality,” Deucalion said. “This is Kali, one of my pack.” 

Her eyes flashed red. She might be Deucalion’s pack, but she wasn’t going to let anyone mistake her for a beta. Derek gestured to the other werewolves, waiting in their places along the wall. 

“These are my pack: Isaac, Erica and my sister Cora.” 

The three bowed towards Deucalion, deeper than the alphas had done. Everything was so stilted that they might have all been reading from a script. It was a ritual. They all knew it was completely fake, but they went along with it anyway. Deucalion spoke next, carrying on with the formal words. 

“We thank you for your hospitality, Alpha Hale, in inviting us into your home.” 

“Your visit honours my pack. I thank you for choosing to spend this time with us.” 

“In gratitude for your kindness, we bring gifts for you and yours.” Deucalion beckoned and one of the human staff hurried forwards carrying a wooden box. The human lifted the lid and pulled out an item from protective straw, holding it up for all to see. It was a small statue that could have come straight out of a nightmare. It showed a person half-way between a wolf and a man, his face twisted in agony, his limbs contorted wildly. Stiles had seen it before, during his research into previous gifts. An alpha of a different pack had gifted this to Deucalion about three years earlier. Stiles wondered if it was common practice for the werewolves to pass around unwanted gifts as part of the rituals, or if this was some deep insult, offering an obviously second-hand item. 

“This statue represents the human and animal sides of our nature,” Deucalion said, “and the torment that can come when those sides are in conflict. It is a reminder that we must be whole in ourselves.” 

“I thank you for your gift and its message,” Derek said, voice carefully blank. The human packed the statue away again carefully and then moved back to his discrete place behind the werewolves. Kali gave Derek a vicious smile as she waved forward one of the others, who lumbered forwards with a huge box that was almost too large for him to carry. He placed it at Kali’s feet. 

“Where Deucalion’s gift is a reminder of the spirit,” Kali said, “mine is a reminder that we cannot forget to attend the needs of our bodies. I understand you’ve been having some discipline problems with your slaves. My gift is to help you with them.” 

She glanced briefly at Stiles. Her eyes were ice cold. From his position kneeling beside Derek, Stiles couldn’t really see the contents of the box. That might be a good thing. He fought to keep his face impassive, hoping that Kali wasn’t able to hear the pounding of his heart. He had to stay still. He couldn’t let her get the satisfaction of seeing a reaction. 

“Your gift is thoughtful,” Derek said. “As you can see, I am happy with my own methods of discipline.” He reached out a hand and rested it briefly on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles still didn’t move. 

“However,” Derek continued, “I’m sure I can put your gift to good use.” 

Kali’s smile never faded. 

Some of Derek’s staff came forward to take the gifts, carrying them from the room. Stiles kept his gaze fixed forward, staring at the back wall to avoid looking at that werewolf with her oh-so-thoughtful gifts. 

Others came forward, each carrying a beautifully carved wooden box, which they laid at the feet of the visiting werewolves. These were Derek’s gifts to his guests. 

“In honour of your visit to Beacon Hills,” Derek said, “I felt that the gift should represent this fine town. You will find a selection of artwork and ornaments from local artists so that you may enjoy the varied talents of these people. Also included are recordings of local musicians. It is an eclectic mix, so I trust you will find something you will treasure and then the rest you may share with others in the hopes that these works of art find themselves in hands that appreciate them fully.” 

Was that a subtle dig at Deucalion about the second-hand gift? Stiles thought so, but Deucalion made no sign of noticing it. 

Stiles had suggested the artwork selection for the gift, partly because it would be easier to split into multiple gifts if Deucalion showed up with a whole pack. He hadn’t realised though that Deucalion was blind, so he was glad someone had thought to include music. 

“Your gifts are very considerate,” Deucalion said, with the same carefully measured politeness. 

“Now,” said Derek, “you have had a long journey. I am sure you would like to rest and clean up in preparation for the feast. My staff will show you to the rooms that have been prepared for you.” 

“You are most thoughtful,” Deucalion answered. 

Derek stood and there was another round of careful bowing of heads from the collected werewolves. Stiles didn’t move a muscle. He remained absolutely motionless as the two alphas followed the human staff out of the room. 

Derek picked up the chain attached to Stiles’ collar. Only then did Stiles stand, taking his place a step behind Derek as they walked out, the werewolves of the pack falling into flanking position. They headed as a group up towards the suite, everyone holding their act, even away from the alphas and the cameras. 

When the suite’s door was closed firmly behind them, Cora was the one to break the silence. 

“I want to punch Kali on her smug face,” she said. 

“She’d kill you,” Derek said. 

“It would probably be worth it.” Derek shot her a dark look and she held up her hands in a surrender gesture, saying, “I’m kidding.” 

Derek kept the glare on her for a moment longer before turning to the rest of the pack. 

“That went about as well as we could have hoped, now we just have to keep going. At the feast, we will be expected to talk politely with Deucalion and Kali. They will try to bait you; don’t rise to it. Don’t say anything to them which is too blatantly offensive either.” 

“So we can be non-blatantly offensive?” Isaac asked. 

“You may have to be. If they are rude to us and we just ignore it, it will look like weakness. If they push, push back, but do it carefully. Anything you say must be something that you could claim later wasn’t meant to be rude.” 

“This is ridiculously complicated,” Erica complained. 

There came a polite tap at the door. The staff were bringing up the gifts. Derek instructed them to put the boxes down and then he dismissed the rest of the pack to get ready for the feast. In moments, it was just Stiles and Derek alone in the room. 

Out of a morbid curiosity, Stiles went over to the large box containing Kali’s gift. He lifted the lid off and stared at the contents. Inside was a mass of leather and metal. There were whips and implements of torture, restraints and cuffs, strange shapes with jagged points of metal that were clearly designed to clamp _on_ or go _in_. Stiles shuddered at the thought of some of them. 

“Stiles, just ignore that stuff. Kali was just trying to bait me or get a reaction out of you.” 

“Maybe we should use some of this stuff,” Stiles said. He caught Derek’s surprised look and hurried on, “To prove a point to Kali, I mean. Some of this stuff I don’t want anywhere near me and some things should be thrown into the fires of Mount Doom, but she was implying that you couldn’t control me.” 

“I noticed that. I do have ears.” 

“So let’s prove her wrong.” Stiles reached into the box and brought out a set of wide leather cuffs. He rummaged a little and found a gag. He held them out towards Derek. 

“You don’t want me talking to Deucalion anyway,” Stiles said, “or doing anything that would reflect badly on you. If I go to the feast bound and gagged, I can’t do anything at all. There’s no way I can give a bad impression, you look completely in control of your slave and you get to rub it in Kali’s face.” 

“Are you sure?” Derek asked. “If we do this, you won’t be able to change your mind. You’ll have to stay bound for the rest of the night.” 

“I know. But at least this way, the worst I have to worry about for tonight is getting bored.” 

Because Stiles had been worried. He’d been worried that the wrong word could trigger a challenge and a catastrophe. Everything was complicated but this could make things simple for a while, for him at least. 

Derek hesitated a moment longer, then he took the cuffs and fastened them around Stiles’ wrists. There was a single link of chain between them, held onto metal rings, so Stiles had a little bit of movement in his arms, but not a lot. The gag was of simple construction, just a panel of leather held by a strap round the back of the head, with a flat piece of leather on the inside of the panel designed to go into his mouth. It wouldn’t force his mouth open too far or, he hoped, be too uncomfortable. It would be easier to cope with than the one Isaac had given them as a joke. Derek fastened it in place and Stiles explored the thing with his tongue. It would be difficult to form recognisable words with this thing in, that much was certain. 

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded. 

Derek took hold of the chain again and they walked down towards the gardens and the feast. 

***

Derek wasn't quite sure how to deal with the fact that Stiles was bound and gagged beside him. This had been an image from his fantasies but right now it just served to highlight to absurdity of their situation. He had to be polite and friendly to an alpha werewolf who thought that humans deserved to be as Stiles was now. He couldn’t let his honest opinion of Deucalion show or it would doom them all. 

So he walked out into the gardens, leading Stiles by the chain. The place had been set up for the feast, with lights and garlands in the trees and bushes. A wide stretch of lawn had tables and chairs set around the edges of the grass. A particularly large chair was set aside for Derek, with one almost but not quite as large prepared for Deucalion, close enough that they could talk if they were both sitting, but with enough distance that they could politely ignore each other if they chose. 

Some of the staff were already there, laying out the food and drinks. Derek ignored them and walked directly to his chair, sitting down and surveying the scene. Stiles dropped gracefully into a sitting position beside him, perching on the cushion that had been laid ready. He wasn’t kneeling this time but that was hardly surprising, given the amount of time he’d have to be there. 

A waiter came over with a selection of drinks. Derek took a glass of champagne. Thankfully his werewolf physiology meant there was little chance of him getting drunk. 

A string quartet sat behind the food tables and now they struck up their playing. It didn’t take long for the first human guests to turn up and then the werewolves came out into the gardens. Kali led Deucalion to his seat and then went to avail herself of the drinks. Deucalion angled himself towards Derek. 

“I trust none of your pack will have any difficulty controlling themselves under the full moon,” he said. “It could be dangerous with all these humans around.” 

“They will keep control,” Derek said. He didn’t say that he was actually a little worried about Erica. This would be her first full moon and that could always be trying, though Cora had spent time with her teaching control. Cora would get Erica out of there if there was a hint of trouble. 

“It’s good that you have such faith in your pack,” Deucalion said. “I might have thought you’d be less trusting, given the issues you’ve had in the past with some of the late members of your pack.” 

Derek had expected digs from the other alpha, but he hadn’t expected him to bring up Peter and all the memories associated with him. Derek considered his words carefully before he spoke again. 

“The situation with my uncle was difficult,” Derek said slowly, “but my uncle is gone and the pack is stronger for it.” 

“Of course. Even a small pack may be strong.” 

An insult shaped like a compliment. Deucalion was better at this than Derek was. 

“The size of my pack may not be an issue for long,” Derek said. “I receive many requests to receive the bite. In a town where werewolves are respected, applications come often. One came in this week from a young man I think will make a fine addition to the pack.” 

“Which young man would this be?”

Again, Derek was surprised and caught a little off guard. Why would Deucalion care about some teenager applying to be a werewolf? It wasn’t like he’d know the guy. 

“His name is Vernon Boyd,” Derek said. 

“Oh,” Deucalion said. He turned his head away. Derek wondered what he’d missed. 

Derek wanted to escape this man, if only for a few minutes, but he couldn’t just walk away. He had to play the gracious host. 

“I am going to avail myself of the food,” Derek said. “Would you care for anything?” 

“I will join you,” Deucalion said, much to Derek’s frustration. “Perhaps you will lend me your arm and guide me to the tables.” 

Derek then had little choice but to stand and offer his arm for Deucalion to put a hand through. They walked slowly across the lawn, the other guests melting out of their way. Derek handed Deucalion a plate and described the selection of food available, mostly things that could be nibbled with fingers. The kitchen staff had done an excellent job preparing a beautiful spread, even if the guest of honour couldn’t see it. Deucalion chose a few items carefully, eating with delicate care. He tested everything with a tiny nibble before he bit in. Derek wasn’t sure why. Did Deucalion expect to be poisoned or something? 

“I must complement you on your catering,” Deucalion said. 

“Thank you. The kitchen staff do an excellent job, even when visitors give little notice.” 

Deucalion ignored that little jab. 

“You have fine taste in musicians as well,” Deucalion said, tilting his head towards where the quartet were playing. “It makes me curious to see what else you have fine taste in.” 

“I’m not sure I understand.” 

"I would appreciate some time with one of your body slaves,” Deucalion said. 

Derek snapped round to look at Stiles, who sat perfectly still on the ground beside his seat, bound and vulnerable. The thought of Deucalion anywhere near him made his blood boil, anger surging up with enough force to test even his control. 

“I won’t share Stiles,” Derek said, before he could bite down on his anger. 

Deucalion gave a smile that was somehow more frightening than all the threats in the world. 

“Of course,” Deucalion said. “But you have another slave, I believe? It’s clear you have a favourite and that’s fine, but surely you wouldn’t object to me taking the other one off your hands for a short while?” 

Scott! God, how could he have been so stupid? By speaking without thinking, he’d shielded Stiles but left Scott exposed. He couldn’t let this happen. Ignoring the dangers if Deucalion figured out Scott was a werewolf, he wouldn’t trust Deucalion near any of his pack, particularly not one who Deucalion thought of as an expendable and inferior human slave. 

How the hell could Derek get out of this without opening himself up for a challenge? 

“If you want that sort of private entertainment,” Derek said, “I’m certain we can arrange something, but I have no desire to share my intimate property.” 

“I understand. No, private entertainment will not be required.” 

Deucalion smiled again. Derek wondered how the hell he was going to get through the rest of the night without screwing up further.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had bondage in the story tags since the beginning but this is the first time I've really written any in. That darn plot kept getting in the way. :) 
> 
> If you don't like reading sex scenes, feel free to skip over this chapter. Plot will continue in the next one.

The night passed in uncomfortable awkwardness. Derek managed to avoid anything that might have been considered an insult worthy of a challenge, though Kali did her best, asking him what he thought of her gift and whether he had considered tormenting his slave with any of the less visible items. 

Many of his human guests made their farewells in the early hours of the morning but, as the host of the feast, Derek couldn’t escape. He had to be present all night. It seemed that the sun had never taken so long to rise, but at last dawn lit the horizon and the feast came to its official close. Derek called on his staff to show the alphas back to their rooms and then he found Isaac, sending him off to replace Scott on watch over the kitchen girl. 

Only then did Derek return to Stiles, who still sat motionless beside the chair. He was pale, a weariness in his whole posture. There was a faint trembling in the hands he held clasped in his lap. Derek suddenly realised that Stiles must be freezing. Derek had been moving around all night but Stiles hadn’t had that chance and his outfit wasn’t exactly designed to be warming. Derek felt a sick sense of shame that he’d been so focused on Deucalion that he hadn’t even noticed. He longed to wrap his arms around Stiles and let the heat of his body warm him. 

Instead, he took hold of the chain and Stiles stood, a little stiff and ungainly. They walked together towards the compound. Stiles kept his hands clasped and his eyes downcast. That walk back up to the suite seemed to take forever, but they finally made it. Derek closed the door firmly behind them and made haste to unbuckle the strap holding the gag in place. 

He expected some sarcastic remark, some comment or complaint. He expected Stiles to rant against the situation or berate Derek for his part in this. 

Stiles dropped to his knees in front of Derek. 

“How do you wish me to serve you, master?” 

“Stiles!” Derek began, terrified of what this might mean. Had he done or said something that made Stiles afraid of him? Was Stiles once more thinking of him as a scary monster? Or worse, was there something about the restraints? Had Kali cursed them somehow to influence Stiles’ mind? All sorts of fears raced through Derek’s thoughts. 

Then Stiles peeked up from beneath lowered brow. His eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“What are you playing at, Stiles?” Derek asked. 

“You need a distraction before you explode from stress. And I saw the way you looked at me when you put the cuffs on.” Stiles bowed his head again, but not before Derek caught sight of his smile, “Have your way with me, master.” 

This was everything Derek could have dreamed of. Stiles was kneeling at his feet, ready and willing. Derek had imagined this and he longed to just rip those clothes off and take Stiles here and now. But he remembered the conversation they’d had only recently, even if it now felt like a lifetime ago. Stiles had been afraid of him, flinching away at the thought of this very scenario. He had been unwilling to trust Derek in this way. The fact that he was now able to lay his trust at Derek’s feet was exhilarating, but Derek couldn’t help be afraid. If he went too far or played the role of master too well, he could ruin this forever. 

“Weneedasafeword,” he burst out. 

“Huh?” asked Stiles. 

“A safe word. We need something that you can say if you want me to stop.” 

“I’d assume I’d say ‘stop’.” 

Derek realised once again how new Stiles was to all of this. It filled him with a delicious excitement even as it stirred up his fears. 

“We’ll use the traffic lights,” Derek said. “If you’re happy, you can say ‘green.’ If you want to pause to ask something, or clarify something, or to tell me how you feel about something, say ‘yellow.’ If you want me to stop, for whatever reason, say ‘red’. Understand?” 

“Yes, master. Green.” 

Derek smiled and took hold of the chain. He gave a gentle tug and Stiles stood, following him through to the bedroom. They stood together at the end of the bed and Derek reached out to unfasten Stiles’ cuffs. Stiles looked a little disappointed, but he said nothing. Derek tossed the cuffs aside. 

“Strip,” he ordered. “Slowly.” 

Stiles eased up the tight fabric of his top, revealing inch by inch of pale skin. Derek stood silently, watching. He was amused by the faint rose of embarrassment on Stiles’ cheeks, but made sure to keep that from his face. Stiles freed himself of the top and dropped it on the floor, then he started with the pants. That embarrassed blush was deepening slightly as he slowly pushed the cloth down, leaving himself completely exposed to Derek’s stare. 

Derek’s own pants were now feeling uncomfortably tight but he left them on, the better to highlight the difference in situation as Stiles stood in front of him, naked apart from the collar, and already half hard. 

“Get in the middle of the bed,” Derek ordered, “on your hands and knees.” 

Stiles hurried to obey, crawling up from the end of the bed to kneel there in the middle of the expansive covers. Derek allowed himself a minute to stand at the end of the bed and admire the view of Stiles’ ass sticking up in the air. Then he walked round to sit on the side of the bed next to Stiles. 

He ran a hand down Stiles’ spine and rested it on the pale globes of his ass. He lifted his hand away and brought it down quickly in a light slap. He didn’t hit hard. The blow was more sound than sensation and Derek kept his eyes on Stiles’ face. There was surprise there but not pain. Derek paused anyway, waiting in case Stiles felt the need to use a safe word. When none came, Derek brought his hand down again. 

Each blow was soft, just a faint sting that would be felt for a moment and then disappear. Between slaps, he spoke, letting fantasy words flow over them both. 

“Your ass is mine, slave. I can do with it what I will. I can tease you when it pleases me, or punish you when you misbehave. I own this sweet ass. If I want to spank it pink or beat it with a paddle, I can do so. Whenever I want.” 

Stiles shuddered faintly. Derek paused both words and slaps, waiting to hear if Stiles said anything. He didn’t. 

Derek changed tack now, running his hands over the slightly pink skin. The marks were already fading, but he traced them nonetheless, caressing the places he’d hit only moments before. He ran a finger over Stiles’ opening and Stiles shuddered again. 

“I can do whatever I like with your ass, slave. I can stuff you full and stretch you wide, or leave you open and empty, desperate for me to fill you. I could pound you into the bed, here and now, and claim you as mine forever.” 

He said the words, but Derek knew he wouldn’t do it. Not tonight. Not like this. The first time he went there with Stiles, there would be no collar around his neck. Besides, he wouldn’t want their first time to be when he was still slightly distracted by the fact there were other alphas in his territory. No. Tonight, he would tease Stiles with the idea, but he would wait for a better time for the reality. 

Derek played a little longer with Stiles’ ass and then stood up from the bed. He heard a faint groan, hastily bitten back. 

“Turn over, slave. On your back.” 

Stiles rolled over, lying there in the middle of the big bed. 

“Close your eyes,” Derek ordered. Stiles obeyed. “Keep them closed. I could blindfold you, leave you helpless to know what I have planned, but I would rather have you obedient. I want you wondering what I am doing, knowing that you could just open your eyes and peek, but knowing that you must not. If you open your eyes without permission, I will punish you. Do you understand?” 

“Yes.” 

Derek reached out and slapped Stiles on the thigh, “Yes, what?” 

“Yes, master.” 

“Good boy.” 

Derek watched him for a moment, seeing Stiles lying there motionless, his erection standing up against his stomach. Derek made a point of moving around the room, even opening drawers just so that Stiles would have some sounds to hear and wonder about. A part of Derek wished Stiles would open his eyes, just so that he’d have an excuse for punishment. 

Then Derek went to the bedroom door and opened it. He heard Stiles’ sharp intake of breath and for a moment wondered if this would be the point when Stiles used one of the words. But Stiles breathed out again slowly, the sudden spike in his heart rate slowing. 

Derek left him for a moment and went into the main room of the suite to retrieve Kali’s gift. He carried the whole box through to the bedroom and then closed the door again. There were things in here that must have been invented in the fevered dreams of sadists, but there were some he could use. There were more cuffs, there attached to sturdy chains. Derek pulled them from the box, the metal chains rattling as he did so, and Stiles made another quiet gasp. 

Derek carried the chains over to the bed and took his time fastening them to the posts. Each chain had a clip at the end which allowed him to hold them in place around the bed’s posts. All this time, Stiles hadn’t moved or opened his eyes. Good behaviour deserved rewarding. 

Derek lifted one of Stiles’ wrists. He placed a soft kiss on the inside of the wrist and then stretched the arm out, fastening the cuff around the wrist. He walked slowly around the bed to the other side and then repeated the action, leaving Stiles shackled to the bedposts. He walked then to the end of the bed and took hold of one of Stiles’ feet, kissing the ankle before cuffing it as well. He had to adjust the chains slightly, but soon all four of Stiles’ limbs were pulled out taut, pinning him helpless to the middle of the bed. 

It was an image straight out of Derek’s fantasies. 

Only now did he remove his own clothes, watching Stiles’ face for the reaction to every sound. He had no doubt Stiles knew what was happening. 

Derek climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Stiles’ spread legs. He ran a hand up each leg, starting at the cuffed ankles and stopping just short of reaching Stiles’ groin. He let his hands play over Stiles’ thighs, tracing the faint moles on his skin, ghosting down the soft hairs. He brought his fingers close to the straining erection only to dance them away again, hearing Stiles’ moans of frustration as gentle music. 

Then he moved his attention upwards, playing his fingers across Stiles’ chest, teasing his nipples, running his hands below the smooth metal of the collar. He brought his mouth into play, kissing and licking and sucking, still careful to avoid a single touch ever reaching Stiles’ desperate hardness. 

“Please,” Stiles moaned. 

“I didn’t give you permission to speak, slave.” 

Stiles bit his lip, holding back whatever he might have said. 

“Perhaps I should stuff that mouth with something so that it doesn’t happen again.” 

Derek moved up the bed, kneeling so that one leg was either side of Stiles’ chest, his erection close to Stiles’ face. He hesitated. 

“Yellow,” Derek said. 

“Huh?” Stiles opened his eyes. 

“If I do this, you won’t be able to say anything while it’s happening.” 

Stiles eyes flicked to the cock which was so close to his face that it must have been difficult to see anything else. He clearly understood what Derek was suggesting. Stiles nodded. 

“Green,” he said. Derek smiled at him, reaching out to caress Stiles’ cheek. 

“Close your eyes then,” Derek said. Stiles did so and then Derek said, “Green.” 

He was back in his master persona in an instant. 

“You’re always misusing that mouth of yours,” Derek said, sticking his fingers between Stiles’ lips and forcing the teeth apart. “I can think of a much better use.” 

He pulled his fingers out and repositioned himself, crouching over Stiles’ face. He pulled a pillow down the bed and eased it under Stiles’ head to try and make the angles easier. Then he knelt over Stiles and lowered his erection into Stiles’ open mouth. 

Stiles wrapped his lips around Derek’s cock, sucking and licking even as Derek thrust, driving himself down Stiles’ throat. 

It took no time at all and Derek shot his load into Stiles’ eager mouth. Then he pulled away and watched Stiles gasping for air, white cum showing on his lips. Stiles licked it from them. 

“Good boy,” Derek said. “I think you deserve a reward for that, don’t you?” 

“Yes, master.” 

“What do you want, slave?” 

“I want you to touch me, master?” 

“Touch you? Like this?” Derek teased, placing a hand on Stiles’ arm. Stiles groaned. 

“No, master.” 

“You’re going to have to tell me what you want, slave.” Derek knew exactly what Stiles wanted, but he planned to make him beg. 

“I want you to touch my cock. I want you to pump me. I want your mouth on me. I want you to make me cum. Please, master. Please.” 

Derek could hardly deny him when he asked so nicely. Derek repositioned himself and then ran his tongue up the length of Stiles’ erection. He opened his mouth and took as much as he could of it in his mouth. Stiles came in an instant, streams of salty cum shooting into Derek’s mouth. He swallowed them down and then pulled away. 

He admired for a moment the sight of Stiles lying, spent and smiling, still bound. Then he reached out of the first cuff. He freed Stiles’ limbs quickly, and then reached for the clasp of the collar. Stiles opened his eyes as the collar came away. 

“Wow,” Stiles murmured. 

“You liked that?” 

“Yeah. I liked that.” 

Derek tossed the cuffs off the bed but he was too tired now to be bothered with undoing the chains. He just turned out the lights and got the covers out from under them. Stiles shifted up the bed, righting the pillow and then snuggling down under the covers. Derek lay beside him, wrapping his arms around him. 

“We’ve got to do that again,” Stiles said, “only next time, you get to be the one in chains.” 

“Why do I get the feeling I should be scared?” Derek asked. 

“Because I have evil plans for my pet wolf.” 

Derek chuckled and for the first time in days, he allowed himself to relax, with Stiles safely in his arms.


	29. Chapter 29

Scott was bored out of his mind. He’d spent the entire night sat in one of the compound’s cars, watching Kelly’s house. She’d gone home after school and spent the evening with her parents. Scott caught glimpses through the windows of a perfectly ordinary evening. Eventually, the lights went out inside the house and the family went to bed. Scott spent the night staring at the darkened windows, yawning, and wondering how things were going at the feast. 

It was a full moon night. He ought to be out there, in the woods, somewhere he could feel the moonlight on his skin and run with the wind. Instead, he stayed shut up inside the car and kept the wolf shut up inside his soul. 

He couldn’t even listen to the radio to take his mind of his boredom, because the noise might attract people’s attention. He didn’t want to have to explain why he was sitting outside a girl’s house in the middle of the night. 

So he waited with growing impatience for the dawn. 

Even when daylight graced the eastern horizon, he knew his stint of guard duty wasn’t over. He still had to wait for someone to come and take over. At least now he knew he was on the home straight. He kept eager watch for approaching cars and, finally, one pulled up a little down the road. Scott climbed out of his car, eager to stretch his legs, and Isaac did the same. 

“How was the party?” Scott asked. 

“Tedious small talk with people who hate our guts. What’s not to love?” 

“But no one challenged anyone or got themselves killed?” 

“No. Deucalion tried to convince Derek to lend you to him.” 

Scott was so shocked he wasn’t sure what to think, let alone say. He hadn’t considered that Deucalion might want something like that, even with all the conversations about Stiles going to him. 

“Don’t worry,” Isaac said quickly. “Derek said no.” 

“That’s a comfort, I guess.” 

“Anything been happening here?” Isaac asked. 

“Tedium. Boredom. Monotony. Dullness.” 

“You been practicing your vocabulary for English?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Well, you head back to the compound and I’ll handle the tedium from here.” 

Scott gave one last look towards the house and saw a shadow of movement behind the curtains in one of the upstairs windows. 

“What was that?” he asked. Isaac looked. 

“Maybe someone’s woken up.” 

Someone screamed. 

Scott was running before the sound ended. He charged into the front door, smashing it from its hinges. He pounded up the stairs, seeing a bewildered couple coming out of one of the bedrooms. 

He burst through another door, into the room he knew was Kelly’s, and saw her struggling on the bed against a large man. Scott grabbed the man, hurling him across the room. There was blood on the bed. 

The man was wearing gloves that had claws attached to the fingers. He lashed out with them now. Scott jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding the claws going into his legs. Then Isaac was there, partly transformed. Isaac grabbed the man by the throat and pinned him down on the ground. 

“Are you alright?” Scott asked Kelly. She was still on the bed, blood pouring from deep gashes, but she nodded mutely. 

“What the hell is going on here?” demanded Kelly’s mother. 

“Call the police,” Scott told her, “and maybe an ambulance.” 

She obeyed without question, hurrying off to find a phone. Kelly’s dad rushed into the room, racing to his daughter’s side and then standing between her and everyone else. 

“Who are you people?” he asked. “What’s going on here?” 

“We’re on your side,” Scott said, holding his hands out in a calming gesture. He still looked fully human, which was probably a good thing, judging by the looks of terror he was shooting in Isaac’s direction. 

“Scott, look out!” Isaac yelled. 

Scott spun towards the doorway and saw another hunter there, gun in his hand. 

Before Scott could react, the man gave a cry of pain and dropped the gun. An arrow now pierced his shoulder. 

Scott leapt at him anyway, kicking the gun aside as he tackled this new hunter. He pinned the man and then looked up, seeing Allison standing there, a bow in her hands. 

“I came to help,” she said quickly. 

Kelly’s mum returned, staring at the pinned hunters, at Allison with her bow. She had the phone in one hand and a golf club in the other, looking like she might start whacking people any moment. 

“The police are on their way,” she said. “Someone better start explaining.” 

“Oh crap,” Allison muttered. 

She ran for the stairs, ducking a wild blow from the golf club. Scott couldn’t go after her without letting go of the hunter he had pinned. Right now, it was more urgent to deal with the person who’d tried to shoot him than the person who’d saved his life. 

A sharp pain flared in his side. Scott cried out, but the pain helped him keep hold on himself and stay human. The hunter had managed to get his hand on a knife and had driven it into Scott’s flesh. Scott held his position as the hunter tried to throw him off. The scuffle was very one-sided; the hunter had been expecting a human level of strength. 

With one hand, Scott grabbed the hunter’s wrist and twisted. The knife dropped onto the carpet. 

“What the hell is going on!” yelled Kelly’s mum. 

Scott went with the short version of the explanation, “Some people wanted to kill Kelly and frame the werewolf pack. Derek Hale found out about it and sent us to protect her.” 

“Why?” she asked. 

The full answer to that could take weeks, so Scott went with, “Because sometimes humans are more monsters than werewolves.” 

The hunter spat at him. 

***

The police showed up a few minutes later and heard the panicked account from Kelly’s parents. They spoke to Kelly as she was bandaged up by the paramedics. She told her side. Sheriff Stilinski turned up while Kelly was giving her statement, his face set with anger as he heard the report of humans wearing fake claws. 

Then it was Scott’s turn. He went with honesty, explaining that they knew the hunters wanted to discredit Derek, explaining that they’d figured out Kelly would make the perfect target. 

“Why didn’t you come to us with this information?” the cop asked. 

“Because we didn’t have any proof and we didn’t know the identities of most of those involved. Derek thought it would just tip off the hunters and let them change their plans.” 

“So he decided to take the law into his own hands and risk the life of a teenage girl?” 

“She had a werewolf guarding her. She wasn’t at risk.” 

The cop looked over to where the paramedics were finishing up with Kelly, who apparently wouldn’t need a trip to the hospital. 

“I think we’ll need to take a statement from Alpha Hale,” the cop said. He continued with Scott’s statement, asking, “Who was the other girl?” 

Scott hesitated. Allison had run rather than face the police. She’d saved his life. Surely he owed her something for that? At least until he had a chance to talk to her and figure out why she’d been here. 

“I don’t know,” Scott said. 

“You don’t know?” 

“No. It all happened so fast and I was focused on the guy who’d tried to shoot me. I probably wouldn’t even recognise her if I saw her again.” 

A short distance away, Isaac turned to glare at him. Isaac would probably follow his lead and keep Allison’s identity out of this. He hoped. 

***

It felt like Derek had been asleep for less than a minute when the phone rang. Derek lay there for a moment, hoping the sound would do the reasonable thing and shut up. Beside him, Stiles made an unintelligible noise and buried his head under the covers. 

Derek groaned and pulled himself from the bed. He found his phone in the pocket of his pants. 

“What?” he demanded, his tone implying bloody death to whoever dared interrupt him. 

“Alpha Hale, I’m calling from the Sheriff’s department. I’m going to need you to come in and give a statement.” 

“Regarding what?” His stomach clenched with tension. What if Stiles had got it wrong? What if someone was dead and the police thought he’d done it. 

“There was an incident earlier this morning and one of your pack was involved along with one of your... staff.” 

“Was anyone hurt?” 

“Superficial injuries only.” 

Derek released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said. 

He wondered about just pulling on some clean clothes but there was a chance that he still smelled like sex, even to human senses, and he would be walking into the same building as the sheriff. Derek went into the bathroom and made the point of having a very thorough shower. He dressed quickly and then paused only long enough to place a gentle kiss on the blanket-covered mound where Stiles’ head was currently buried. 

He drove the Camaro to the police station and was met by the sheriff. Derek tried very hard not to think about the fact that he’d had this man’s son bound to his bed only an hour or so earlier. 

Derek found himself sitting in a small office, giving a careful statement about the situation with the hunters. He wasn’t sure how much Isaac and Scott would have told them, so Derek went with a policy of nearly-complete honesty. He told them about Stiles’ kidnap, about the threats made by the hunters, about the theory that Stiles had come up with and the plan to protect Kelly. The only thing he left out was that the sheriff had known about the first half of this. Sheriff Stilinski listened to the whole thing without comment. 

When Derek finished, it was a deputy who asked why they hadn’t gone to the police. 

“With what?” Derek asked. “We had no proof of anything.” 

Derek spent what felt like hours answering questions, detailing the events of the past few days over and over. Everything was carefully recorded. Only when Derek had finished did the sheriff actually answer some of Derek’s questions. It seemed that the two werewolf hunters claimed they were acting alone. The sheriff could bring in the Argents for questioning, but they had alibis for the time of the attack, no doubt by design. It would be difficult to prove a connection between the Argents and the two men who had tried to kill Kelly. 

At last, the interview was over. Derek left the office and found Isaac and Scott waiting for him near the entrance to the Sheriff’s station. Both of them looked thoroughly exhausted. Someone else was waiting too. Kelly and her parents were sitting on the opposite side of the room, but Kelly stood when she saw Derek. 

“I wanted to thank you,” she said. “Scott said you sent them to protect me.” 

“You should thank Stiles,” Derek said. “He’s the one who figured out you were a target.” 

“But why me?” 

“Because everyone knows you showed an interest in Stiles. Your death would make me look like a jealous monster.” 

“You should know nothing ever happened between me and Stiles. I like him, yes, but he never did anything wrong.” 

“I know,” Derek said. He turned away from her, wanting to leave this awkward subject behind. He nodded to his pack members. 

“Let’s go home,” he said. 

“There are a lot of reporters outside,” Isaac warned. 

There was no escaping this. The attack would be public knowledge by the end of the day. Derek would have to face the press at some point, it might as well be now. At least now, he could shape the story to some extent. He dug out his car keys and handed them to Isaac. 

“Go to the car and wait for me,” he told them both. Then he took a breath, opened the doors and stepped out to face the public. 

Camera flashes nearly blinded him. He wondered if any of the pictures would even come out, given the lens flare that generally accompanied pictures of werewolves. Derek found himself assaulted on all sides by a torrent of questions. 

“Is it true that there was an attempt to frame you?” was the first question. Derek answered their questions succinctly, explaining about the attack and his believe regarding the motive. He kept his answers short and left Kelly’s name out of it, though her privacy couldn’t be expected to last. 

“Will you be pursuing the perpetrators yourself?” someone asked. 

“This was a crime committed by humans against a human victim,” Derek answered. “It is therefore the sheriff’s jurisdiction, though I and my pack will give him our full cooperation.” 

Derek managed to keep his dignity as he calmly answered all the questions. Then one woman asked something that was the verbal equivalent of a punch to the gut. 

“How do you respond to allegations that you are trying to manipulate the sheriff of Beacon Hills in these matters by threatening his son?” 

For an instant, it was as though time froze. The reporters paused their questions. Even the camera flashes halted momentarily. Then the world restarted and Derek had to say something. 

“What allegations?” he asked. 

“Erm...” 

Derek continued, “You are the first person I’ve ever heard make any such accusation. I’m curious where you received your information because you clearly need to improve your fact checking.” 

“You deny the allegations then?” the woman asked. 

“Of course I deny them. I have no interest in interfering with the search for justice, on this matter or any other. And unlike those who tried to frame me today, I wouldn’t try to influence situations to my liking by hurting an innocent person.” 

Derek walked away then. If they had any more questions they could ask them to his back. He stalked over to the car and climbed into the passenger seat, since Isaac was already behind the wheel. He drove off to more flashes of cameras. 

Derek took a breath and then turned to Isaac and Scott. 

“Tell me everything I don’t already know,” he said. 

He didn’t expect Scott’s answer: “Allison Argent saved my life.”


	30. Chapter 30

Scott was thoroughly tired. No matter what Derek said about werewolves needing less sleep than humans, he needed a solid eight or nine hours sleep. Logically, he knew going to bed now would probably just screw up his sleep cycle completely because then he’d be awake in the middle of the night, but logic could take a back seat to the desire to just curl up under the covers and shut the world out for a few hours. 

He was making his way through the hallways of the compound, mind on the comfy bed waiting for him upstairs, when a voice stopped him in his tracks. 

“Excuse me, would you be so good as to help out a blind man?” 

Scott turned towards the voice, wondering how he’d been so unaware of his surroundings. He blamed his sleep deprived state, but that was no help now. Deucalion stood by the doorway to one of the guest rooms. He was smiling politely in Scott’s direction. 

Scott was suddenly very aware that it had been over twenty four hours since he’d applied the wolfsbane-laced aftershave that was supposed to hide his true nature from other werewolves. He considered running. After all, Deucalion wouldn’t know who’d been here. 

But that would be rude. Even if Deucalion didn’t know exactly who had ignored him, he would know that someone in Derek’s household had refused his request for help. That would look really, really bad for Derek. Scott had to help. He just had to hope that either the wolfsbane kept working or Deucalion assumed he was one of the pack. 

Scott walked over to Deucalion. 

“What do you need?” he asked. 

“I believe there is a lunch laid on in the main dining room, but I don’t know the way. Would you take me there?” 

“Of course,” Scott answered. He offered his arm and Deucalion slipped a hand around it just above the elbow. Scott started walking towards the dining room. He was acutely aware of that hand and the hidden power beneath it. 

They’d only walked a few feet when Deucalion spoke again. 

“You must be Scott.” 

“That’s right.” 

“I understand why Derek has been keeping you hidden from me.” Scott felt tension as a solid knot in his guts, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t want to let anything slip. “It’s understandable that he’d be discrete about such things, they reflect badly on us all, but he wouldn’t be the first alpha to lose control in a moment of passion.” 

Scott had a very good idea what he was hinting at, but still he said, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Scott. You can’t be blamed for what was done to you.” 

He had to know Scott was a werewolf. There could be no other meaning to his words. But Deucalion thought Derek had been the one to bite him. A moment of passion, he’d said. No doubt, Deucalion thought that Derek had accidentally bitten him during sex. It was hardly an unreasonable assumption, given the way this situation looked from the outside. Scott didn’t know what to say about it. He wanted to absolve Derek of blame, but revealing the truth about Peter would just make Derek’s situation worse. So Scott just stayed silent. 

"Derek Hale was never meant to be an alpha,” Deucalion continued. “Being an alpha is about more than having the power, it’s about having the will to use it, the fire to inspire others, the drive to lead. Derek Hale is an alpha in title, but he’s still a beta in his heart.” 

“He’s still an alpha,” Scott said. He tried to keep his tone from becoming too confrontational, but he’d seen the lengths Derek was willing to go to in order to protect his pack. That meant something, whatever Deucalion thought. 

“For now,” Deucalion said. 

“What does that mean?” 

“Someone like Derek Hale could never be on the Council of Alphas, but if someone were to challenge him and take his power, well that would be a sign of a true will to lead.” 

Scott wanted to ask what he was implying. He hoped it wasn’t what he thought he was implying, because it seemed to Scott that Deucalion was suggesting Scott kill Derek in exchange for a place on the Council of Alphas. Scott didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t call Deucalion insane because insulting him when he was a guest wouldn’t go down well. He settled for saying nothing. Either Deucalion would think he was thinking it over, or he’d think Scott was too thick to get what he was hinting at. 

They reached the dining room, which was spread with an array of cold meats and a rainbow of salads. Kali was already there, but there was no sign of Derek yet. Scott helped Deucalion to a seat and then hurried out of there as quickly as possible. 

He found Derek just coming out of the suite. 

"I need to talk to you," Scott said. 

“Not right now. I’ve got to have lunch with our guests.” 

“This is important.” 

“What?” 

“I think Deucalion just told me to kill you.” 

***

Derek was seething with anger as he walked to the dining room. Part of it was at the insults to himself, questioning his abilities as an alpha, but mostly it was at the fact that Deucalion would try to drag Scott into this. In a lot of ways, Scott was still just a kid. Werewolf or not, he shouldn’t be asked to kill someone any more than Stiles should. 

And now Derek had to go in there and make nice with the bastard who was plotting his death. 

Derek walked into the dining room, giving a polite nod of greeting to Kali and a pleasant hello to Deucalion. He took his seat at the head of the table and started helping himself to the food that was laid out. The other two werewolves were already eating, despite the protocol that it was polite to wait until the host’s arrival. Derek said nothing about this. 

"I understand you've had a busy morning," Deucalion said. 

“Yes,” Derek said. News of the attack was already public, so there was no point denying anything.

“So people in your territory are trying to frame you for murder? Most distressing.” 

“They only went to these lengths because their original plan failed: to coerce one of my slaves into simply killing you.” 

Deucalion didn’t seem shocked by this. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with it. If it worked, I would be out of your way and if it failed, you would be able to pin the blame on these humans.” 

“It’s not my style,” Derek said. “I don’t use teenage boys to fight my battles for me.” 

He was careful not to phrase it as an accusation. It was simply a statement, but one which Deucalion had to understand. Deucalion didn’t seem too bothered. 

“Some would say an alpha should be willing to use any weapon available to them,” Deucalion said. 

“Scott and Stiles aren’t weapons.” 

Deucalion actually smirked. 

Derek kept his hands hidden beneath the surface of the dining table because they were clenched into fists. He longed to just leap across the table and rip Deucalion’s throat out, but he knew he’d never survive such a fight. 

Derek settled for smiling over his food and saying politely, “Your emissary didn’t say how long you expected your visit to last.” 

He wasn’t telling Deucalion to leave. He wasn’t even asking. He was simply stating a fact, but Deucalion couldn’t help but understand. Derek wondered if he’d made a tactical error. If Deucalion ignored the hint, it would be a sign that the balance of power was still firmly with Deucalion. 

Thankfully, Deucalion smiled, “We wouldn’t want to out stay our welcome. I believe we shall leave tomorrow.” 

Derek mentally sighed in relief, but there was still a grain of worry that wouldn’t shift. If Deucalion was so willing to leave, it meant he’d achieved whatever goal he’d had for this visit. It might have been the offer to Scott, or it might have been causing a stir in the territory, or it might be something else, which Derek hadn’t spotted yet. 

He couldn’t relax until this man was as far from his territory as possible. 

***

That afternoon, Derek had to keep playing gracious host. He’d arranged for them to have a box at the theatre for a matinee. The show was a murder mystery with decent enough reviews. Since it was the only theatrical performance in town, Derek’s choices for entertainment were somewhat restricted, but he hoped this would suffice. It had the great advantage that at least he wouldn’t have to talk to Deucalion. 

The theatre provided headphones with audio description, should Deucalion want them though Derek was tempted not to mention this facility. It was a petty revenge, but it would make him feel better about the situation with Scott. In the end, Derek went with politeness and called the theatre to make sure that the headset would be available. 

He brought Cora with him, leaving the rest of the pack back in the compound. Most of them wanted to recover and sleep. Cora didn’t seem too happy at the honour of being the one to accompany him, but he trusted her to keep her temper more than he trusted Erica. 

The performance was probably very good, but Derek had a hard time focusing on it. He really wanted to sleep but dozing off in the middle of the entertainment was probably a bad idea. 

He somehow survived and the group of werewolves made their way back to the compound. In the car, they made pleasant small talk about the play, as though there hadn’t been threats to kill each other discussed earlier in the day. Kali appeared just as bored by the play as she had been by the posturing at lunch. No doubt she’d have preferred to see a gladiatorial death match or something. 

They made it back to the compound and Derek had time for a quick nap before dinner. His sheets still smelled of Stiles, and that pleasant scent drove the more unpleasant dreams away. 

***

Derek longed to stay in bed, but he had to get up and dress and prepare himself for another tortuous meal. The rest of the pack would be at the dinner, with the exception of Stiles and Scott. There would be a few human guests as well, including the mayor and a couple of local businessmen. He had considered inviting the sheriff, but thought better of it. It would be very awkward if someone asked him for his views on Stiles’ situation. 

Where was Stiles anyway? 

He wasn’t in the suite. Derek checked a couple of the usual places but there was no sign of him and he didn’t have time to do a full search of the compound. On a whim, he went past the study on his way to the dining room. 

There was Stiles, sitting at Derek’s desk, working away at the computer. 

“Working or fun?” Derek asked. 

“Research,” Stiles said. “Scott told me about that reporter earlier today and I’ve been doing some digging.” 

Stiles was grinning. He was almost bouncing in his seat, the way he got when watching Firefly, as though the excitement needed to burst out of him. 

“What have you found?” Derek asked. 

“I don’t want to talk about it now, but let’s just say that when you get rid of your unwanted guests, there are some ideas I want to try.” 

“Ideas about what?” 

“Abolishing slavery.”


	31. Chapter 31

Deucalion’s departure involved as much ceremony as his arrival, though the press contingent was smaller. Derek gathered his pack in the entrance hall of the compound to see Deucalion and Kali off. Deucalion’s human staff were nowhere in sight, out packing vehicles or making last second preparations for the journey. This was a moment between the werewolf packs. 

Derek had Stiles and Scott with him as well. They’d discussed this farewell with as much planning as went into the average war. Derek stood central in the hall, claiming his territory. Stiles and Scott were on either side of him. They were barefooted, but both were standing and neither were collared. There would be no show of subservience today. The rest of the pack stood half a step behind them, with Cora to Derek’s right and Isaac and Erica to his left. They stood in that line, each of them close enough to their neighbours that they were nearly touching. 

They were a united pack and their positioning showed it. 

Deucalion and Kali walked into the entrance hall and came to stand in front of Derek. They bowed their heads slightly. Derek did likewise. He kept his gaze on Deucalion’s blind eyes, but he could hear the faint rustle of movement as his pack mirrored his gesture. They would be bowing exactly the same amount as Derek and for exactly the same length of time. They’d practiced last night with Stiles recording it on his phone until they could get it perfect. The pack were showing respect to the visiting werewolves, but no more. 

Deucalion took a step towards Derek, smiling and offering his hand. Derek hadn’t anticipated this. He couldn’t refuse the handshake but he could pause for just long enough that the reporters started frowning, wondering if he was going to refuse. When they shook, Derek let go as quickly as possible, hopefully before any of those reporters managed to get a good picture. 

Deucalion tilted his head in Scott’s direction and then smiled at Derek. 

“You should be more careful with your possessions,” he said, quietly enough that the reporters wouldn’t be able to hear. “An alpha who cannot control his animal instincts is no alpha at all.” 

“I take care of my own,” Derek replied, with equal quiet and equal calm. “They know they have my loyalty as I know I have theirs.” 

“I’m sure your uncle had as much faith in his betas.” 

Deucalion was probably trying to play on his paranoia by bringing up Uncle Peter, a very unsubtle reminder that Derek was once a loyal beta who’d killed an alpha. No doubt Deucalion wanted Derek looking over his shoulder, wondering if Scott was considering the offer or if one of the others had been given a similar message. But Deucalion had miscalculated. He didn’t know all the details of what had happened with Peter. 

Cora laughed. The sound caught Derek a little by surprise, but he allowed himself a small smile. Mostly, he was smiling at the shocked look on Deucalion’s face. Deucalion had made a careful dig about loyalty and was surprised that the Hale pack found it funny. For once, the alpha of alphas was caught off-guard. 

Derek turned his head towards Cora and said calmly, “Be polite, Cora.” 

His volume was still quiet, but not as quiet as it had been. The reporters would have heard. Derek turned back to Deucalion. 

“My apologies for my sister’s reaction.” 

“No apology is necessary,” Deucalion said, his face a calm mask again. Beside him, Kali was close to snarling. 

Deucalion smiled, “Once again, Alpha Hale, we thank you and your pack for your hospitality.” 

“And we thank you for the honour of your visit.” 

Deucalion and Kali turned and walked towards the main entrance, their movements accompanied by the clacking of Kali’s claws and the rhythmic tap of Deucalion’s cane. They walked out the main doors and Derek’s security closed the doors behind them. 

In silence, Derek turned and walked into the compound, his pack falling in behind him with military precision. No one said a word until they reached the suite and the door was firmly shut behind them. 

“Oh thank god,” Cora said, crumpling into the couch and slumping there. 

“That visit went suspiciously smoothly,” Derek said. He took a seat at the dining table. Most of the pack sat around the table, though Isaac slouched against the wall instead. 

“Kelly was attacked, Scott nearly got shot and Deucalion tried to get one of your betas to kill you,” Stiles pointed out. 

Derek nodded, acknowledging this, “But considering my fears for this weekend, this all went extremely smoothly.” 

“You think Deucalion left too easily?” Cora asked. 

“So,” Stiles said, “either he thinks you’re not enough of a threat to be worth bothering with, he thinks he’s achieved his purpose and Scott will kill you for him, or he’s got some other scheme brewing that we haven’t figured out yet.” 

“Or all three,” Derek agreed. “But for now, the visit is over and we’re all still alive. I will consider that a victory.” 

“Yay team!” came a sarcastic mutter. 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said, ploughing on. “There are other matters we need to deal with. Firstly, I think it’s time for Scott to officially become part of the pack.” 

Scott nodded. “It’s not going to be worth keeping it secret if Deucalion’s figured out the truth.” 

“Plus all the press attention around Kelly gives us a perfect opportunity. I will make a public statement saying that in gratitude for your bravery in this incident, I’ve offered you the bite and you’ve accepted. We don’t need to do any of the paperwork with you as my slave.” 

"I should call my mom. I know you don’t need to ask her permission, but I should talk to her, rather than have her hear it from the papers.” 

Derek hadn’t considered that, but it was only reasonable. Besides, not so long ago, he’d been looking for an excuse to let Scott spend some time with his mother. 

“Invite her to join us for pack dinner tonight, if you like,” he said. 

Across the table, Erica looked a little angry, “You never invited my parents to pack dinner.” 

Derek hadn’t even thought of that. Erica was part of the pack now, part of his family, and it hadn’t occurred to Derek that she might be missing her old one. She had more freedom than Scott to go visiting, but the situation over the past couple of weeks had been rather too hectic to allow it. A part of him wanted to get defensive and say that she could have asked, but he knew that was unfair. He wanted pack time to be pack time, but he couldn’t have one rule for Scott and another for her. 

“Next week,” Derek said. “You can invite your parents to next week’s, if you like.” Erica smiled, and Derek turned to Isaac, “What about you?” 

“I am quite happy with my dad on the other side of solid walls and an armed security force, but thanks anyway.” 

Derek nodded. He knew Isaac’s reasons for accepting the werewolf bite he left it at that. He moved on down his mental agenda. 

“Next,” he said, “I want to talk about the fact that Deucalion tried to get one of my pack to kill me. Did Deucalion approach any of the rest of you with a similar offer?” 

He turned his gaze on each of them in turn, pricking up his ears to tune into their heartbeats. Steady, calm. No one was scared, no one had that increase in heart rate that would accompany a lie of omission. Cora might have the control to keep her heart steady under such circumstances, but Derek didn’t think any of the rest of them could manage it. He didn’t want to be suspicious of them, but he had to know for sure. Now he did. 

“Why did he single me out?” Scott asked. 

It was Stiles who answered, "Maybe he thinks you'll be resentful of Derek? After all, as far as he’s concerned, Derek made you a slave and then turned you against your will. Why wouldn’t you want to get back at him?” 

That was the theory Derek was working with. He’d considered the possibility that Deucalion might have had the same conversation with everyone in his pack, just in case one of them took him up on the implied offer. 

Cora proposed another theory, “He might think you’re young and naïve in the ways of werewolf politics. He might want to get someone like you as an alpha because he thinks he can manipulate you and through you, this pack and territory.” 

“Hopefully he knows better now,” Scott said. Of all the pack, Scott was the least likely to be a threat to Derek. Not because there was any lack of power there, but because Scott simply didn’t have the heart to be a killer. Derek had murdered his own uncle and that wasn’t the first blood on his hands. Scott didn’t have it in him to kill. 

“Speaking of murder,” Derek went on, “we need to discuss the werewolf hunters. The police do not have the evidence to arrest the Argents and it’s likely they will try something else.” 

“I’m particularly curious why Allison saved Scott,” Isaac said. 

“She’s not like the others,” Scott said quickly. Stiles reached out and whacked him upside the head. 

“I’m going to invite them here,” Derek said. “I will make it clear that I won’t accept attempts at murder on my territory. Perhaps with Deucalion gone, they will focus their attention elsewhere.” He didn’t actually believe that, but he could hope. “I don’t want to issue an official invitation; they might want the attention from refusing it. Scott, can you pass the message on through Allison when you are at school?”

“Of course,” Scott said. 

“Next,” Derek said, turning to Stiles, “I believe you had some idea about ending slavery?” 

“OK,” Stiles said. “I think we can assume, given that Deucalion is trying to get your own pack to kill you, that your plan of getting him to invite you onto the Council of Alphas is pretty much shot to hell. So you’re not going to be in a position to make changes from the inside, like you’d hoped. Which means we need to change things from the outside. I think we might want to take a leaf out of the Argent’s book.” 

The entire pack was staring at Stiles like he’d gone insane, so he kept on talking rapidly. 

“I don’t mean killing people, I mean the bit about kicking up a media storm. A lot of people are complacent about the werewolf laws; they don’t even think about them. We need to get them thinking and we need to get them angry, without being seen to be too directly involved, because that will just make everyone suspicious.” 

“Do you have a plan?” Derek asked, a little sceptical but mostly just amused at Stiles’ rapid talk and flailing hand gestures. 

“That reporter who asked you about the allegations to do with me,” Stiles said. “Her sister is involved with HER.” 

“Who?” Scott asked. 

“No. HER. H. E. R. It stands for Humanity for Equal Rights. They’re an organisation who think there should be equality in the law as it applies to humans and werewolves.” 

“I’ve never heard of them,” said Derek. 

“That’s because they’re ridiculously amateur. I could do a better job of a website given half an hour and a Wordpress account. They’re so far below radar I don’t think anyone’s noticed them, maybe because they’re too scare to do anything too visible. Mostly they just gripe at each other anonymously on their forums about how unfair it is that werewolves have all the privileges, but I was able to track the owner of the website’s domain name to a woman who lives in Beacon Hills.” 

“That reporter’s sister?” 

“Bingo! Everything I can find says that she’s very vocal about the need for equality, but so far there hasn’t been anything like a real strategy to achieve it. I think I should pay her a visit.” 

Derek interrupted, “I thought you said we shouldn’t appear to be involved.” 

“You shouldn’t be,” Stiles said, “but I’m not a werewolf. I’m a poor, abused slave who’s a victim of this flawed system. I go to her, say that I need her help raising awareness about the slave laws, give her some pointers about how to get information out there, we use the reporter sister to get mentions of the slave laws in the news, we keep pushing. All the while, I’ll insist on absolute anonymity because I’m scared of what will happen if my werewolf master finds out.” 

There was a moment of silence when Stiles finally finished talking, broken only by Isaac muttering that they definitely needed to start a poker night. There could be no doubt that Stiles would be putting himself at risk. If other werewolves tracked him down as the source of an uprising, he would be the focus of their anger. 

On the other hand, Derek might be able to use that. He couldn’t be overtly involved, but if the other werewolves figured out that Derek was pulling the strings, that might work in his favour. Deucalion had implied that Derek didn’t have the drive to be a real alpha. If Derek was shown to be manipulating others this way, that might be the proof he needed to show the council he was serious. 

“We’ll do it,” Derek said, “but you and I will sit down and discuss _everything_ you plan to say to them before you go. We will need to control the message.” 

Stiles looked a little surprised that he said yes. Derek suspected that he had another hour’s worth of arguments ready to go. 

Derek called an end to the meeting and then headed down to his study to take care of a few pieces of business, like the press release about Scott. He also issued a bonus payment to all of the staff who’d been involved in the feast on Friday. He had to deal with all the contingency plans he’d made in case Deucalion stayed longer, as well as the regular work that had been piling up, so Derek ended up eating a quick sandwich at his desk and working through into the afternoon. His business always took longer than he expected but he finally got it dealt with and headed back to the suite. 

Scott and Isaac were heading out with armfuls of clothes, moving Scott’s stuff to a private room. Since Scott was now officially part of the pack, he wouldn’t be sharing that little bedroom off the suite. It would be strange not to have Scott hanging around the suite all the time, but Derek couldn’t help feel a little rush of excitement at the thought that he and Stiles would have more privacy in here. 

Clearly Stiles had the same thoughts, because he snuck out of Derek’s bedroom, a pink flush decorating his cheeks. 

“You’re not allowed in there,” Stiles said. 

Derek bit down a grin, “Is my slave ordering me around?” 

Stiles blushed harder, “You’ll ruin the surprise.” 

From the reaction, Derek guessed that the surprise involved Stiles’ promise of a turn with the chains and, quite probably, ordering Derek around. He could smell the lust from across the room. Derek was tempted to shove Stiles into the bedroom and demand his surprise now, but the others would be showing up soon for the pack dinner and Derek didn’t want to rush something Stiles was clearly excited about. 

“How about we watch an episode of that insect show?” Derek suggested. 

“It’s called Firefly!” Stiles started, then he frowned. “You’re calling it that just to mess with me, aren’t you?” 

Derek grinned, walking across the room and placing a kiss on Stiles’ forehead, “You’re cute when you’re angry.” 

“I feel I should be making a Hulk joke right now, but I’m not sure you’d get it.” 

Derek leaned close, keeping his face as serious as possible at said, “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” 

Stiles started laughing so hard that Derek actually got worried about him when he turned purple and seemed to be struggling to breathe. 

“I’m starting to get offended here,” Derek said, which just set Stiles off more. In the end, Derek went to find the DVD and left him to recover. 

They watched an episode, with Stiles curling up next to Derek on the couch, except when he bounced with excitement at key moments. Derek grabbed him both arms, pulled him close and held him tightly. 

“Sit still,” Derek hissed in his ear, “I’m trying to focus on the show.” 

Not that it was any easier to focus with Stiles pressed within his arms, where every attempted bounce caused him to squirm against Derek’s chest. From the scent of desire, Derek wasn’t the only one whose thoughts were straying. Derek leaned forward and murmured in his ear. 

“One day, I am going to tie you up to watch TV, just to watch you squirm. Every time you try to move, you’re going to remember that I’ve got you bound and you’re going to think of everything I’m going to do afterwards.” 

Stiles squirmed in his arms again, saying, “I’m going to hold you to that.” 

They were just finishing the episode when the first arrival showed up for pack night. Erica walked into the suite, looked at the couple on the couch and groaned. 

“Get a room,” she muttered. 

“We’re in my room,” Derek pointed out. He kept his arms around Stiles until the credits started, just to make a point. By then, Isaac and Cora were showing up, shortly followed by one of the kitchen staff with the food. 

Isaac started to help himself, even as the food was being laid out, but Derek knocked his hand out of the way. 

“We’re having company tonight,” Derek said. “Wait.” 

Sure enough, Scott arrived a few minutes later with his mother in tow. She walked into a room full of werewolves with her head high and headed straight for Derek. 

“I understand that since Scott is now part of your pack, you’re honour-bound to protect him and keep him from harm?” 

“Yes,” Derek said, more than a little confused. 

“Then you can’t punish him for this,” she said. She slapped him. Derek hadn’t expected it, so he didn’t attempt to block or evade. He just stood there, more surprised than anything else. 

“Mom!” 

“What gives you the right to take boys from their families?” she demanded. “You think you can just seize someone and claim him as your property and that gives you the right to do whatever you like to him? You think you have control over his body, his very nature?” 

“Mom!” Scott got a hand on her arm, trying to calm her. Mrs McCall just kept glaring at Derek. 

Cora started sniggering. 

Isaac skipped the laughter and just said loudly, “I like her.” 

“Mom, please don’t hit my alpha.” 

Stiles grabbed a plate of chicken wraps and shoved it between Derek and Mrs McCall. 

“Have some food!” he insisted. 

Derek took that as an excuse to take a step backwards. He gestured towards the table. 

“Please, help yourself,” he said. 

Mrs McCall was not so easily swayed. 

“We are not done here,” she told Derek. “You hide behind archaic laws that allow you to abuse minors. What you’ve done may be legal but that doesn’t make it right and the fact that you’ve invited Scott into your pack doesn’t change anything. It also doesn’t make it fair. You’ll give Scott back his freedom but not Stiles?” 

“He has offered me the bite,” Stiles interrupted. “I said no.” 

Derek looked at this woman, all fire and anger, protective of her son to the point where she would face an alpha without fear. Derek smiled, and turned to Stiles. 

“I think we’ve found the public face for your plan,” he said. 

Mrs McCall blinked at the two of them. 

“What plan?” she asked. 

Scott smiled at her, “Stiles’ top secret plan to end slavery.” 

They sat her down and, over the course of the dinner, filled her in on what Stiles had planned. She kept looking suspiciously at Derek, as though wondering what his angle was, but she listened. By the end of the meal, she was nodding in agreement. She was genuinely angry about what had happened to Scott and she was happy to talk about it. If they wanted a voice of human anger to spark the fire of rebellion, she would provide it. 

When the meal was over, Scott went to see his mom off and the rest of the pack drifted back to their rooms. Derek was left alone in the suite with Stiles. Once he was sure that the others were out of earshot, he turned to Stiles. 

“So,” Derek asked, “you said something about a surprise?”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the idea for this chapter in my head almost from the moment I started this story. It's only taken me about thirty chapters to get to a point where it would fit. 
> 
> As a heads up, there's very little plot in this chapter. If you want to bypass the sex scenes, jump to the section at the end.

Stiles grinned wickedly and said, “Wait here.” 

He disappeared into the bedroom and returned a moment later with an airline sleep mask. Derek was surprised to find himself nervous as Stiles slipped the mask over his eyes. In the sudden darkness, Derek could hear Stiles’ heart pounding rapidly, in time to his own. Stiles took Derek by the hand and led him gently into the bedroom. 

For a moment, Derek started to reach out with his senses of smell and hearing, trying to figure out what Stiles had planned, but he that would defeat the purpose of the blindfold. Besides, it was difficult to smell anything over their mingled arousal. 

“Take off everything except the blindfold,” Stiles ordered. His voice was strangely firm yet quiet. Each syllable fell with surety of being obeyed. Derek slowly removed his clothes, imagining Stiles watching every movement. Derek bent forward deliberately as he pushed down his pants, sticking out his ass. He heard a stifled groan and knew that Stiles was enjoying the show. 

Derek stepped out of the last of his clothes and stood in the middle of his bedroom floor, naked apart from the blindfold. He had never felt more vulnerable, nor more safe. 

Stiles was there beside him, hands running up Derek’s chest. Derek reached out to touch back. 

“No,” Stiles said softly. “You don’t get to touch yet. I want you to display yourself to me.” 

With subtle commands, Stiles repositioned Derek until he stood with his legs slightly apart, his hands clasped in the small of his back, elbows back, chest out. He felt like some prize pup being displayed for a show, but the heat of his desire was filling his groin. 

“You’re a work of art,” Stiles said. His hands were all over Derek’s skin again, brushing over his arms, rubbing up his chest, stroking down the side of his legs. Derek’s skin tingled at the touch, but Stiles steered clear of his aching erection. As Stiles’ hands moved closer to it, it became a battle for Derek to hold still. 

Then Stiles moved away. Derek waited, desperate for more of those soft touches, eager for whatever came next. 

“The bed,” Stiles said, taking Derek’s hand and leading him to the edge of the mattress. “On your back.” 

Derek lay there in the middle of the big bed. He heard the metallic shifting of chain and he knew what was coming. After all, Stiles had promised this. 

Stiles took one wrist and trapped it in the leather embrace of the cuff. He took care with the tightness of each buckle as he restrained each limb, checking it wouldn’t hurt, checking it would hold firm. Then he tightened each chain around the posts in the corners of the bed, stretching Derek out. 

Stiles moved away from the bed again. Derek lay there, burning with anticipation, listening for the clues of what was to come. The mattress shifted beneath him as Stiles climbed onto the bed. He knelt a knee on either side of Derek and sat across his thighs. 

Derek was suddenly aware that Stiles must have undressed. Bare skin pressed against bare skin. 

Then something soft ran up Derek’s stomach and chest. It was like fur or something, velvety smooth. Stiles danced the sensation around Derek’s nipple. 

Something else started playing on the other side of his chest, something rough and almost scratchy. That rough texture moved downwards to his navel while the soft one ran across his shoulder blade. Stiles moved the two conflicting feelings in constant flow across his skin. His nerves seemed to tingle from the sensory input. 

The rough texture disappeared. Derek could feel Stiles’ weight shifting and he could picture him reaching out for something new. A shiver ran up Derek’s spine. Something sharp ran over his skin. It felt almost like a claw, but not sharp enough to break skin. The two sensations followed the same path now, curving over his skin. The sharp feeling drew a line and the soft feeling flowed behind, soothing away any hurt. It was like Stiles was turning his skin into a canvas and painting it with sensations. 

Stiles paused again and Derek felt that shifting of weight on the mattress. 

Then something tickled across his stomach. 

Derek gave a shriek of involuntary laughter. The chains clacked as he jerked against the restraints, his body reacting automatically. Stiles tickled the thing against his side. 

“You evil bastard!” Derek gasped. 

Stiles paused again. Derek wondered if he was planning some other evil scheme, but then he realised Stiles was probably waiting for him, waiting to see if he’d ask to stop. A part of Derek wanted to. He hated the helpless out of control feeling he got from being tickled. 

But he trusted Stiles. He knew this wouldn’t hurt him. Stiles would never hurt him. If it became too much, Derek could say red and he was certain Stiles would stop. That thought was enough for Derek. He didn’t need to say it yet. 

The tickling began again on his sides and stomach. Derek writhed and thrashed against the restraints, body reflexively trying to get away from that touch. He heard, over his own frantic laughter, Stiles’ quiet amusement. 

Then the tickling thing ran up his side to his right armpit. 

Derek yanked his arm downwards by reflex, trying to guard against the vulnerability. There came a horrifying crack as his arm shot to his side and then that limb was no longer restrained. 

Wood creaked alarmingly and Derek felt the bed shifting sideways. 

With his now free arm, he grabbed Stiles and pulled him down onto the bed. He twisted over as well as he was able, given that three limbs were still chained, trying to cover Stiles with his body. He got his arm up over Stiles’ head. 

Then the chaos started. Wood rained down around them as the bed’s canopy collapsed and the posts fell. The whole structure dropped, the mattress and frame crashing down onto the floor. Something landed hard across Derek’s legs. The chains pulled at his limbs as the posts that held them crashed down. 

It was over in moments. 

Derek shoved the blindfold off, but he was still smothered in darkness. The bed’s canopy had fallen over them, fabric pressing them against the mattress. Derek brought out his claws and slashed upwards, cutting through the cloth so he could see the wreckage that had been his bed. When he’d pulled his arm down, the chain had snapped one of the posts in half. 

Strangely, the cuff was still around his wrist, unscathed. There was no way a leather cuff should have fared better than a solid oak post. Maybe he hadn’t been far wrong in wondering if Kali’s gift might have been enchanted. 

“Stiles, are you alright?” Derek asked. 

Stiles was lying next to him on the mattress. It looked like one of the posts had hit him on the way down. Derek shoved that aside now, but Stiles just lay there, shaking. 

“Stiles?” 

His voice was filled with worry and Stiles must have heard that, because he lifted himself up from the mattress and Derek recognised the shaking for what it was. Laughter. Stiles was laughing. 

“We broke the bed,” Stiles said, between peals of laughter. 

Stiles clearly couldn’t be hurt too badly, so Derek felt himself relax and the absurdity of the situation struck home. He found himself smiling too. 

“You broke my bed,” Derek said. 

Derek yanked with his restrained arm, but there came an ominous shifting from within the pile of rubble, so instead he reached for the cuff with his free hand. Stiles, still laughing, moved to help him with the buckle. 

“You can’t blame me,” Stiles said. “This was you and your freaky werewolf strength.” 

"No. This was on you. You were in charge in here. You broke my bed.” 

A piece of the canopy’s frame was lying across the bottom end of the bed, over their legs. Derek tossed it aside and Stiles got to work on the ankle cuffs. Stiles was moving a little stiffly. 

“Are you hurt?” Derek asked. 

“I’ll have some interesting bruises to add to my collection,” Stiles said, “but I’ll be fine.” 

He was still struggling to control the laughter. Derek climbed free from the mess and stared at what had once been a magnificent bed. Now it was a pile of rubble surrounding a mattress on the floor. The entire room was covered in dust and wood fragments. 

“This isn’t quite what I had in mind for tonight,” Stiles said. 

Derek picked a wood chip from his hair. 

“Come on. Let’s get cleaned up. Then we can deal with this mess.” 

“Um, sure,” said Stiles. “Do you want to use the shower first?” 

“I’ve got a better idea,” Derek said. 

A minute later, they were in the shower together and Derek decided that this was the hottest sight in the universe: Stiles, stake naked, rivulets of water running down his bare skin, washing away the dust of a ruined bed. His arousal had taken a swift nosedive in the fear and chaos of the collapsing bed, but it was back now with a vengeance. 

Derek put his hand behind Stiles’ head and pulled him in for a kiss. Stiles made a surprised noise, then murmured something like sounded like, “OK then,” into Derek’s mouth. Then they were kissing and touching with wild need. This had nothing of the careful orchestration of the bedroom, just a fierce desire. 

Derek nuzzled a trail of kisses up Stiles’ neck to his ear and murmured, “Don’t break my shower.” 

Stiles was somewhere between laughter and moans of desire, grabbing hold of the fixtures to steady himself. Derek dropped to his knees on the tiles and wrapped his mouth around Stiles’ erection. Stiles was moaning again, thrusting his hips as Derek sucked. Derek held onto Stiles’ ass with one hand, while the other pumped on his own erection. 

They came together, the stream of hot water washing away the signs of their lust almost immediately. 

Derek stayed there a moment, breathing hard and trying to get some control over his body again. He staggered to his feet, grabbing onto pipework to keep from falling as his legs debated whether they were going to work properly. 

“We should get handholds in here or something,” Stiles said, “if we’re going to make a habit of that.” 

Derek just laughed and kissed Stiles’ neck. He was too spent to think of a good reply. 

“That was awesome,” Stiles said. They just stood there under the water, not bothering with trying to get clean now, just holding onto each other. 

Derek put an arm around Stiles’ back and leaned his head against Stiles’ shoulder. Skin pressed against skin but it wasn’t about lust now. 

“I love you,” Derek said. 

He hadn’t even realised he’d said them until he heard the jump in Stiles’ heartbeat and felt the muscles beneath his hands suddenly tense. He had a moment of terror that he’d done something wrong, that he’d moved too fast, that he’d just scared Stiles away. But a second later, the tension vanished again and Stiles leaned into the embrace. 

“I love you too.” 

***

When they were towelled off and dressed, they still had to deal with the disaster in the bedroom. There were plenty of guest rooms in the compound, so they could easily sleep somewhere else tonight, but someone would have to clean up the mess sometime. 

“This is your fault,” Derek said, to the still-grinning Stiles, “so you can phone up and get some of the staff to sort this out. I’ll grab some stuff for tonight.” 

Derek went back into his bedroom, going to the closet for some clothes to wear tomorrow. He grabbed deodorant too, but didn’t bother with anything else. The guest rooms had toiletries after all. While Derek got their supplies, Stiles was on the phone in the main room. 

“Hi,” Stiles said, “I’m calling from the alpha’s suite. We’re going to need a clean-up crew and, I dunno, a carpenter or something.” 

Derek pricked up his ears to hear the response. 

“A carpenter? What for?” 

Stiles giggled. He actually giggled. 

“We broke the bed.” 

“You broke my bed,” Derek called out, loud enough that the person on the other end of the phone must have heard. 

“Could you repeat that?” she asked. Stiles attempted, with very little success, to keep from laughing again. 

“Alpha Hale’s bed accidentally got... demolished. He’s going to need a new one.” 

Derek could hear muffled laughter from the other end of the phone, coming from more than one person. The woman must have put the call on speakerphone and called anyone nearby to listen. Everyone in the compound would have heard about this by morning. 

“Does he need it now?” the woman asked. 

“No. We’re going to use a guest bedroom tonight.” 

“Very good. I’ll see what I can organise.” She was clearly struggling to hold her own laughter in check as she hung up. Stiles burst out laughing the second he put the phone down. Derek fought to keep his own face serious. 

“I should punish you for this,” Derek said. 

“For breaking your bed?” 

“No. For being intolerably smug about it.” 

“Come on! We broke the bed!” 

This time, Derek joined in the laughter.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad the last chapter was appreciated. :) 
> 
> One of the comments had me cackling wickedly at my own evil plans because I knew what was coming. I'm not going to say whose comment though. :)

Derek fell asleep almost at once, but Stiles lay in the spare bed, thinking, re-thinking and over-thinking. Derek had said he loved him. But it had been right after sex. What if it was just some post-coital haze thing and he hadn’t actually meant it? It could have been some heat of the moment thing to do with lust more than love. 

And Stiles had said it back, but mostly because Derek had said it and if he didn’t say it back it would have been _incredibly_ awkward. But did he actually love Derek? He liked him, he liked spending time with him and keeping Derek safe mattered to him. He couldn’t imagine letting himself get gagged for public show by anyone else. But did that mean it was love? How could he know? 

He’d never been in love before. OK, he’d spent far too long drooling over Lydia Martin, but that hadn’t been love. This was different from that, he was sure. OK, he still thought Derek was drool-worthy, but there was more to it than that. 

He wished there was a way he could just know without having to worry about it. Failing that, he wished his brain had an off-switch because he had school tomorrow and at this rate he wasn’t going to get any sleep at all. 

Derek made a faint growling noise. Stiles bit down a laugh. So he was possibly-in-love with a guy who sounded like an angry puppy when he slept. That was just adorable. 

The growl deepened. Stiles rolled over to look at him and saw Derek’s eyes open, red lights glaring into the darkness. 

“Derek?” Stiles asked. “Are you awake?” 

The only reply was an increase in the volume of growl. There was a faint tearing noise, like claws ripping through fabric. 

He felt the movement beside him, the shifting of the mattress. Stiles scrambled out of bed, reaching for the light switch on the bedside lamp, but he didn’t know this room well enough to find it in the darkness. 

“Derek?” Stiles said. “You’re scaring me a little now.” 

He could just about see Derek’s shape, a dark shadow crouching on the bed, those red eyes glaring towards Stiles but not really seeing him. 

“Derek! Cut it out!” 

Stiles found the light switch. The light flared revealing Derek in his half-wolf form. Derek made an angry noise and jumped at him. Stiles jumped back, grabbing the lamp in both hands. He swung it like a club, but Derek just knocked it aside. The lamp flew from Stiles’ hands, smashing into the wall with a crash of broken bulb and plunging them into darkness again. All Stiles could see now were Derek’s eyes. 

He moved backwards cautiously until he stumbled into a chair. He grabbed it, holding it up in front of him like a shield. 

“Derek! Snap out of this!” 

Derek leapt at him. Something else leapt too. A dark shape and another pair of eye-lights burst through the door, charging into Derek and tossing him aside. They moved in a scramble of claws and fury. 

Stiles could see the doorway, lit from somewhere along the hall, and he hurried there now, finding the main light switch and hitting it. Then he turned back, seeing Scott in his werewolf form pinning Derek against the wall. Derek looked human again. 

“What’s going on?” Derek asked. 

“You tell me,” Scott snarled. 

Stiles took a hesitant step towards them, saying, “You were sleep-rampaging.” 

Fear and shame filled Derek’s eyes as he looked towards Stiles, “Are you hurt?” 

Only then did Scott release his hold. 

“I’m OK,” Stiles said, though he was feeling anything but. Not long ago, Derek had declared love for him. Now, he was attempting to turn him into a chew toy. 

“I’m sorry,” said Derek. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t even remember.” 

“Scott got here before you could do anything.” Stiles smiled at Scott, “Good job you were close by.” 

“I was woken up by the lamp breaking,” Scott said. Then he looked puzzled, “What were you doing in here anyway?” 

Despite everything, despite the fact that his heart was still pounding in fear, Stiles couldn’t help a grin at the memory of the previous evening. 

“We broke the bed,” Stiles said. 

“You broke my bed,” Derek said automatically. 

Scott still looked puzzled, “But that bed is solid oak. How the hell do you... No. Forget it. I don’t want to know.” 

Stiles grinned again and turned to meet Derek’s eye, but Derek was still looking serious. More than that, he looked terrified. Stiles wanted to go over there and comfort him, which was lunacy given that Derek had been the one about to maul him. Maybe he really was in love? 

“Has anything like this happened before?” Stiles asked Derek. “Have you ever wolfed out during a nightmare or something?” 

“No. Never.” 

Stiles wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He didn’t want this to be a common occurrence, but if it had happened before that would at least tell them something about how to deal with it. 

“’An alpha who can’t control his animal instincts is no alpha,’” Scott muttered. 

“What?” Derek asked. 

“It’s something Deucalion said.” 

“He’s right,” said Stiles. Then he saw the hurt look on Derek’s face. “I don’t mean Deucalion’s right. I mean Scott’s right. That’s what Deucalion said as he was leaving. It’s a bit suspicious that Deucalion makes a snide comment about you needing to keep control right before you start losing control.” 

“You think he did something to me?” 

“It makes sense,” said Stiles. “My other theory is that this is your subconscious rebelling about last night. Some part of you is going, ‘I can’t have enjoyed being tied up. I’m the big scary alpha. Rawr!’ and now you’re overcompensating.” 

“That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” Derek said. 

Scott gave Derek an amused look, “You let Stiles tie you up?” 

Derek glared daggers at Scott. 

“Can we focus here?” Derek demanded. 

“You’re right,” said Stiles. “We need to figure out how he did it and how to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’m thinking creepy statue.” 

“Deucalion’s gift?” 

“He said it was all about the wolf and human sides needing to be in balance.” 

Derek nodded, “So we destroy the statue.” 

“Unless we need the statue in order to put things right. Like maybe the statue is like an on/off switch for a curse. Someone’s turned it on and destroying the statue would just destroy the switch and stop us ever taking the curse off. I really wish I knew more about curses. I think I’m going to need to do some research.” 

"OK, you research," said Derek. “Meanwhile, I’m not safe to be around.” 

“I can wake up the rest of the pack,” Scott said, “and we can take turns watching you, snap you out of it if you lose control again.” 

“Do it. Stiles... you need to stay away from me.” 

“We’ll figure this out,” Stiles said. “I promise.” 

He wondered about giving Derek a kiss or something, just to show that he wasn’t afraid of the awake Derek, but Derek was closed in around himself. There could have been an invisible wall between the two of them. So Stiles settled for a reassuring smile and then headed out. 

Sleep was off the table for tonight. He’d change into something that wasn’t soaked in terror-sweat and then head to Derek’s study and hit the books. There had to be something in one of those old tomes. 

There was something else preying at his mind, something he wanted to read into before he said anything. 

When Scott had burst into the room, all Stiles had been able to see was the light from his eyes. In that moment, Scott’s eyes had shone red. 

***

“Stiles.” Someone was prodding him. Stiles made an unintelligible noise and batted at the offending hand. 

“Stiles.” 

“Unguhuh,” Stiles said, or something along those lines. 

“Stiles, you’re drooling on Derek’s laptop.” 

Stiles actually got his eyes open that time. He blinked blearily at the screen, words slowly resolving out of the confusion. Then he blinked up at Isaac, who was standing next to the desk. It took Stiles a moment to remember the events of last night, and then he looked around at the chaos of books and notes that covered every flat surface of Derek’s study, including most of the floor. 

“What time is it?” Stiles asked. 

“Time we were heading to school.” 

Isaac thrust a mug into Stiles’ hand. There were enough synapses firing for Stiles to recognise the concept of caffeine and he took a long gulp of the coffee. 

“I think I should stay,” Stiles said, “and help figure this out.” 

“No. Derek promised your dad you’d keep up your education and we both know which of those two is more scary.” 

Coffee clutched in one hand, Stiles scrabbled around on the floor for the more relevant notes. He could still think about this stuff at school. Although, right now, thinking about anything was an unlikely proposition. He downed the rest of the coffee. 

“Leave this mess,” Isaac said. “Derek can always forbid anyone from coming into his study if you’re worried about people seeing it.” 

Stiles grabbed a notebook and some scribbled bits of paper and followed Isaac from the room. They headed up to the suite for Stiles to grab his shoes and bag. 

“Did anything else happen last night?” Stiles asked. 

“Apparently Derek fell asleep during Erica’s watch. After about twenty minutes, he went all growly so she woke him up.” 

Which meant that the incident wasn’t a one-off. On the plus side, it was evidence that this wasn’t focused on Stiles. If Derek had been subconsciously reacting against the bondage or confessions of love, then he wouldn’t have reacted like that around Erica. This meant evil curse was still the most likely theory. At least it didn’t seem to do anything while Derek was awake. 

The rest of the pack were waiting impatiently by Derek’s Camaro. Cora had laid claim to the keys today. Fortunately, no one was likely to stop a Hale werewolf for speeding, so they were going to get to school without being too late. 

They spent the drive discussing what had happened. Everyone was in agreement that Deucalion was probably the one to blame but no one had any clear ideas on how to fix it, other than destroying the statue. Stiles didn’t want to try that without knowing more. 

Stiles leaned his head against the window of the car, shutting his eyes and letting the talk wash over him. He was thoroughly exhausted now and no closer to an answer. Why couldn’t they just have peace for five minutes? It seemed like every time they got through something, some new threat reared its head. Hunters, alphas, plots and now curses. 

Cora pulled up in front of the school and Scott leapt from the car, spotting Allison. He hurried over to her. Stiles wanted to be frustrated for his friend, but Scott was actually supposed to talk to her, so he didn’t go and whack Scott around the head. 

Stiles just made his way bleary eyed to his locker. 

“You look half-dead,” a mocking voice said. Jackson was standing nearby, smirking at Stiles. “Being a werewolf’s sex toy too much work for you?” 

If Stiles’ brain was functioning properly, he’d probably do the sensible thing and just ignore him. But he was angry at his messed up situation and, since Deucalion wasn’t here, Jackson was a good target. Besides, the rumours would be everywhere in no time and, for once, Stiles would like to be in control of them. Stiles turned to him and smiled. 

“If you’re jealous that you’re not getting any hot werewolf sex,” Stiles said, “you should just admit it. Me? I’m not ashamed. Do you want to know what happened last night between me and Derek? We broke the bed! And I’m not talking Ikea flat pack here, I’m talking seriously solid construction turned into matchsticks because we were so hot. So there is absolutely nothing you can say to me today that will make me feel bad about being with Derek.” 

Jackson stared at him for a moment, before muttering something about Stiles being just a blow up sex doll to Derek. Stiles laughed. 

He laughed in Jackson’s face and the Jackson’s expression was enough to make sure he kept laughing. As Jackson stormed off, Stiles turned back to the contents of his locker, still grinning. Jackson would probably make him pay for that later, but Derek had said he loved him, and nothing that jerk could say would take that away. 

“One-nil to Stiles,” he muttered.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the shortness of this chapter. I started a new job this week and I've got book edits to do. That doesn't leave much time for fanfics. I figured a short update would be better than no update, so here you are.

Derek didn’t dare disturb the chaos of papers that covered his study floor. Stiles probably had some way of seeing order in the mess and Derek didn’t want to disrupt it. Particularly since he’d like to sleep at some point in the near future. They were pretty certain that sleep was the trigger for whatever was happening to him so if he stayed awake, he should be safe. They hoped. 

A large part of Derek wanted to summon Stiles home to carry on his research but they had to pretend normality. They couldn’t let anyone know how badly the pack was crippled right now. So the others were at school and Derek had to carry on with work. 

Rather than use the study, he’d taken his laptop up to the suite and was sitting at the dining table. He was going over the compound’s budget. The money that had been shelled out on the feast and all the preparations for Deucalion’s visit had eaten a large chunk out of their funds, not helped by the staff bonus he’d just authorised. He had to find a way to cut back on spending without looking like he was cutting back, or risking the jobs of anyone who worked here. 

Derek stared at columns of numbers until they started to blur together. He was welcoming the interruption when someone knocked at the suite’s door. 

“Come in.” 

The man who entered was a heavyset guy with greying hair and a suit that he’d clearly bought when he’d been thinner. This was not a man who’d been prepared for an audience with an alpha. 

“Alpha Hale,” the man said, “I’m Jeremy Calders. I’m here because of the bed?” 

He made it sound like a question, not quite meeting Derek’s eyes. Derek stood and the man flinched back. He was worse than Stiles had been back when he’d first arrived. 

“Through here,” Derek said. He went to the bedroom and opened the door. Calders stepped through and looked at the ruined bed. In the light of day, it was an impressive mass of destruction. Derek had snapped one of the bedposts clean through. Another had broken under the weight of the canopy before everything collapsed. 

“Wow,” Calders said. “This isn’t going to be repairable.” 

“I know that.” 

“How did this even happen?” Calders walked over to the ruins and rapped his knuckles against one of the posts, a sturdy pillar thicker than Derek’s arms. 

“I was with one of my body slaves,” Derek said. Calders gave Derek a sideways look, as though figuring out whether he should be offering congratulations.

Calders picked up a length of chain and pulled it out from under the mess of wood. The cuffs were still attached to the broken bedposts. Derek and Stiles had just left them there after releasing Derek. 

“How about something in metal?” Calders asked. “We’ve done some wrought iron furnishings before.” 

Metal would be good, not just because it would be less likely to break when things got hot with Stiles. Right now, he couldn’t fall asleep without losing control. But they had unbreakable bondage gear. Combined with a metal bedframe, that would be a way to deal with this issue until they could figure out the curse. 

“Get me a design,” Derek told Calders. “As quickly as possible.” 

“Of course.” 

Calders hurried out of there. Derek went back to his laptop and his figures. He would have to add a new bed to his expenses for this month, which would hurt. Still, he thought of Stiles’ laughter and he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about that one. 

***

There were cleaners coming in and out of the suite all afternoon, clearing rubble and sorting out the mess in the bedroom. After a while one of them came awkwardly over to where Derek was working and said, “I assume you’ll still want these.” She put the cuffs and chains down on the dining table and then hurried back to work, blushing scarlet. Derek said nothing and did his best to keep his face impassive. 

The staff were still moving around the suite, mostly getting rid of wood dust and the like now, when the pack returned from school. The whole group came up to the suite. Derek suspected they were all keen to check that he hadn’t turned into a violent killer while they were away. 

Aware of the staff members who could overhear, Derek shut his laptop and handed it to Stiles. 

“Take this down to the study,” he ordered. “If you want to use it to do your homework, you can. I have business with the pack and won’t need your services for a while.” 

Stiles nodded his understanding and took the computer from him. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” 

He headed out of the suite as quickly as he’d come, his bag still on his back. He hoped Stiles would find something, some answer. In the meantime, he had questions of his own to investigate. He picked up the chains and told the rest of the pack to come with him. None of them asked questions until they were down in the gym and Derek locked the door behind him. The place was empty, which was hardly surprising given that most of the staff were still at their duties. 

“What’s this about?” Cora asked, once the werewolves were sure of their privacy. 

“We’ve seen what happens when I go to sleep,” Derek answered. “I need to know if I can control my wolf side when I’m awake.” 

“And the chains?” 

“Just in case.” 

They helped Derek with the chains, fastening the cuffs around his ankles and wrists. He was confident of the strengths of the restraints, but there was nowhere really he could secure them to that he trusted to remain solid. So each of the four other werewolves held onto one of the chains. If he couldn’t control himself, the four of them should be able to hold him with the help of the restraints. 

“Ready?” he asked and saw four nods in answer. He shifted. He didn’t go all the way yet, just changing into that intermediate stage between man and wolf that was as far as the beta werewolves could go. He still felt like himself. Colours dimmed and scents became sharper, his nose taking over somewhat from his eyes. The wolf was there, ready, but still held in check by his human said. 

He shifted again, taking it further, moving into his alpha form, body twisting into a new shape. He could smell the old sweat on the gym equipment, the chemicals used to clean, the leather from the punch bag in the corner. He could smell his wolves. He looked at them. 

Erica. The one who’d hurt Stiles, who’d tried to force herself on him, who’d tried to take what belonged to Derek. He launched at her, stopped mid-leap by the chains held fast by the others. He spun, snarling, to see who had held him from his prey. 

Scott. The one who Stiles confided in, who had known him the longest. The one who would always have a claim on Stiles’ heart that Derek couldn’t hope for. Derek tried to yank one of his arms free, hoping to rip his claws through Scott’s throat. Erica stumbled and fell, but she kept her grip on the chain and the claw didn’t go near its target. 

Derek was pulled back by the chain around one ankle, nearly causing him to lose balance. He resisted the force, turning his head to snarl at this new interference. Isaac. The one that teased Stiles, that brought offensive gifts, the one that Stiles claimed on occasion to hate. He would bleed for that. 

He tried for a swipe with his claws. Someone yanked on that chain at the same time as another pulled on his ankle. Derek fell, landing hard. He spun onto his back to growl up at the one who’d caused him to fall. Cora. 

_His sister._

The hesitation was brief, but it was enough for Scott to get on top of him, pinning him down, a hand on Derek’s throat. The light of Scott’s eyes glared into Derek’s. 

“Derek!” Scott growled. “Snap out of this!” 

There was enough human left in Derek for him to respond. He shifted back, body sinking into human form. He lay there for a moment, pinned beneath Scott, limbs tangled up in the chains. 

“Are you back?” Scott asked. 

Derek nodded. There was no fight left in him now, just a sense of deep exhaustion. And shame. 

Last night, the change had come over him in his sleep. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. Now he knew. Those thoughts that had driven him to attack hadn’t come from some animal instinct. They’d come from him. Some petty, jealous part of himself had wanted to attack his friends, his pack. He would love to blame an evil curse for this, but the curse had only surfaced thoughts that were already there. 

They helped him up and then helped him remove the cuffs. Scott looked thoughtfully at the one he held, running an experimental claw over the leather. It didn’t leave a mark. 

Cora was just looking at Derek. 

“You didn’t attack me,” she said. “You attacked the others but not me.” 

“Even out of control, I still knew you were my sister.” 

It was true enough, but Derek suspected something else that he didn’t want to admit. When he’d attacked, all his thoughts had been about Stiles. Not about protecting him but about claiming him, owning him, possessing him. He’d wanted Stiles in a deeply dangerous way. That was all still inside him, buried beneath his own desire to pretend, even to himself, that he was a decent person. He may have attacked the others, but it was Stiles who was in the real danger. 

Derek knew what he had to do. He had to send Stiles away. For good.


	35. Chapter 35

Derek knew he had to talk to Stiles, but he had to work out the right way. In the meantime, he needed to see if Stiles had figured out any way around the curse. He walked to the study, Scott coming along with him. Derek wondered if Scott was afraid to let Derek be alone with Stiles. Under the circumstances, he could hardly be blamed for that fear. 

Stiles was sitting in the middle of the study floor, surrounded by books and papers. Derek nearly tripped on a pair of books that were closed over each other in lieu of bookmarks. 

"I'm making progress," Stiles said. "I found a reference to a purification ritual that can supposedly remove curses.” 

“That’s great,” said Derek. 

“It’s really not. It involves skinning you alive while you’re in your alpha form and then immersing you in blessed water. If you survive, apparently the curse will be gone. It needs to happen under the new moon, which means I’ve got about a week and a half to come up with a better plan.” 

“Please do,” Derek said. He didn’t exactly want to be skinned alive. Besides, he’d just seen how out of control he could be in his alpha form. He wasn’t sure anyone could get near him enough to carry out such a painful procedure when he was in that state. 

Derek wondered if maybe he should let Stiles stay until they figured this out. After all, Stiles was the one who could sort through this wealth of information and come out with answers. But that would be wrong. That would be taking advantage of Stiles’ skills, using him. No. Derek would have to make sure Stiles was safe and then figure this out on his own. 

Stiles kept talking, “I’m still trying to figure out how this could have happened. This book has a whole chapter about how an alpha can control another wolf’s shift, but it’s all about the alpha with their beta. Apparently an alpha can use their roar to make one of their betas shift into human form or wolf form, but it’s all about the pack hierarchy. There’s a mention of how a true alpha, whatever that means, can sometimes have influence over another alpha, if there’s a pack bond there.” 

“Deucalion calls himself the alpha of alphas,” Derek said. “Maybe leading the alpha pack means he can control other alphas the way I could my betas.” 

“I guess so, but that doesn’t explain the how part. It’s done through the alpha roar and, well, there’s no one roaring.” 

Scott was looking thoughtful, picking up the book Stiles had been referring to. Scott flipped through the pages. 

“Could we call in another alpha?” Scott asked. “Is there another pack you trust? Maybe we could get that alpha to roar and see if they can get you to shift back when you lose control?” 

Derek shook his head, “I don’t want to bring another pack into this. There’s no one I trust not to challenge me for my territory.” 

There was no one he trusted at all outside of his pack. He didn’t even trust himself. 

“I guess I’ll keep looking then,” Stiles said. 

Derek knew he would. He’d bury himself in all of these books, in every resource the internet could provide him, and he wouldn’t come up for air until he had an answer. Stiles put his heart and soul into helping Derek and all Derek did was put him in danger. 

“Scott, could you give us some privacy?” Derek said. 

Scott hesitated, looking towards Stiles to see what he wanted. Stiles looked uncomfortable. 

“You’re not going to wolf out and try to eat me, are you?” Stiles asked. 

“No. I’m in control.” 

“Alright then.” 

Scott nodded, “OK. I won’t listen in but just yell if anything goes wrong.” 

Scott left the study. Stiles stood among the books. Derek stood by the door. It felt like there was a gaping chasm between them and that hurt, but Derek didn’t trust himself to go closer. 

“You have to leave,” Derek said. 

“That’s not going to help,” Stiles said. “I’ve considered this, but you’ve got so many humans working at the compound. You can’t send everyone away. The reverse might work, if we can find somewhere secure to hold you until we figure out a way to break the curse.” 

“I’m not just talking about the curse,” Derek said. “I need you to go. I’m going to make the announcement that I’m releasing you from your slavery.” 

“What?” 

“You can go home.” 

“I don’t understand, Derek. Are you dumping me?” 

“Yes.” 

Stiles looked at him, confusion fading to distress. Derek wanted to hurry across the room and wrap his arms around Stiles, to wipe away that expression forever. But he couldn’t. He needed to be strong so that Stiles could find someone who deserved him. 

“How did we get from ‘I love you’ to you dumping me?” Stiles asked. 

“It’s for the best.” 

“No,” said Stiles. 

“You can’t say no.” 

“Of course I can. No. No. No, no, no, no, no. No. No! If I’m your slave, your property, then you can do whatever you like. You can decide you’re sick of me and send me away and no one can stop you. But if I’m your... boyfriend... then you can just decide what’s best. The least you should do is give me a damn explanation!” 

Stiles’ voice rose to a shout. His face was filled with anger now. Derek actually thought Stiles might storm across the room and punch him. 

But he was right. He deserved to know the truth, even if he hated Derek for it. Especially if he hated Derek for it. That way, he’d stay away. 

So Derek told him about the experiment with transformation, about how he’d lost control while awake and the thoughts that had driven him to attack his own pack. He finished and waited for Stiles to say something. 

“So?” Stiles asked. 

“So, those thoughts were my thoughts, not the result of some curse. I was jealous and angry and... and you deserve better than that.” 

"You think you’re the only guy to ever get jealous? People think things they shouldn’t. They get angry. They get jealous. It happens. Yeah, I was mad at you over the whole Kelly thing but that was why we said we had to be honest with each other. And believe me I am mad as hell with you right now because you thought you could make this choice for me. You don’t get to decide what I should do and if you have a problem, you need to talk to me. The only way this is going to work is if we’re equals, if we’re partners. You don’t get to make unilateral decisions.” 

“Is that your unilateral decision?” Derek asked. 

Anger burned in Stiles’ eyes. But then he laughed. The anger melted away and he was his usual self again. 

“You want to argue with me?” said Stiles. “Fine. Argue away. But you’d better have a better argument than ‘because I say so.’” 

“I might hurt you.” 

“And you think kicking me out of your life isn’t going to hurt me?” 

"I...” Derek didn’t know what to say to that. His thoughts had been focused on keeping Stiles safe. How could he have missed something so obvious? How could he not have thought that sending Stiles away could be the very injury he was trying to avoid? 

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles said. 

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. 

"I know how dangerous this is. I might not have realised when I agreed to this charade, but I get it now. I didn’t walk away when you had to face Deucalion, I’m not going to walk away now. We’ll figure this curse out and we’ll fix it. Together.” 

Despite everything, despite the fears that still filled him, Derek managed to smile at that. He nodded. 

“Together.” 

Stiles grinned, “And if you ever again start making decisions for me without at least asking my opinion, I’m going to whack you upside the head.” 

Derek laughed, “Agreed.”


	36. Chapter 36

Derek wanted to sleep. He’d rarely wanted anything so much, but he didn’t dare. Weariness filled him to the bones but when he slept, the monster within would be released. Besides, there was work to do. 

He needed to talk to the Argents. He’d planned to have the meeting in his study, but that room was still filled with Stiles’ clutter, now added to with cork boards of notes strung together with bits of wool. Instead, they would be having the meeting in a small parlour, one of the function rooms of the compound that was rarely used. It was a simple enough room for informal meetings, furnished with armchairs and coffee tables. It went well enough with the off-the-record air they intended for this meeting. 

The Argents had accepted Scott’s unofficial invitation. They were to join him for tea one evening when the pack were home from school. Derek suspected that they’d given messages to their allies in case they didn’t return home. 

Derek was keeping the meeting small from his side, with just Scott and Stiles attending with him. He would have left Scott out of it, given his obsession with Allison, but Derek needed to know that one of his pack would be there in case he lost control again. The rest of the pack would be waiting nearby, listening in on the meeting in case of trouble. They’d planned for this meeting almost as much as for the first meeting with Deucalion. 

When the evening came, one of the staff brought tea and coffee and a selection of cakes into the parlour. A few minutes later, precisely at the allotted time, security announced the arrival of their guests and showed them through. Chris and Victoria Argent came into the room, with Allison a step behind them. 

“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” Derek faked politeness. He gestured towards the waiting refreshments, “Would you like something to drink?” 

“Why don’t you just get to the point?” said Chris. 

There was a package laid ready next to the refreshments. Derek had ordered this in especially. Being possessed of natural weapons, Derek had never bothered to learn much about bows, but he understood that this was a particularly fine one. He took the lid off the box and then held it out towards Allison. 

“First,” said Derek, “let me offer you this gift as a small token of appreciation. Your actions may have saved the life of one of my pack.” 

He caught the glint of longing in her eyes, but she kept her face otherwise under excellent control. She looked at the bow for a minute, and then met Derek’s gaze. 

“He wasn’t your pack at the time,” she said. 

Scott was standing calmly at the edge of the room. He choose not to say anything, letting Derek take the lead here. Derek just shrugged, still holding out the bow. 

“Whatever his official status at the time,” he said, “I want you to know that we both appreciate what you did. To the best of my knowledge, you have not been involved in plots to murder innocent people and frame me for their deaths, so I see no reason for there to be enmity between us.” 

Allison glanced over at Scott, but quickly returned her attention to Derek. 

“I’m not interested in your gratitude or your gifts,” she said. 

Fierce pride shone in Victoria Argent’s face. Derek just nodded calmly. This was hardly unexpected. He put the package down but left the lid off, so that the bow would be visible to all during their conversation. Allison was refusing to side with Derek but she hadn’t sided with her parents in their plots either. Derek still wasn’t sure where she fitted in all this. He turned his attention back to the parents. 

“I want to make one thing clear,” Derek said. “I don’t like people trying to turn innocent teenagers into weapons. You kidnapped Stiles and tried to make him do your killing for you. When that didn’t work, you tried to slaughter Kelly to set up a fight.” 

“You have no proof of that,” Victoria interrupted. 

“Of course not. If I had proof, you’d be sitting in a jail cell now. My point is that you’re not the only ones who act this way. Would you be interested to know that Deucalion tried to manipulate Scott into killing me?” Across the room, Derek heard Stiles make a sharp intake of breath, but he ignored it for now. 

“As far as I’m concerned,” Derek went on, “that makes you as bad as each other.” 

“Are you comparing us to Deucalion?” Chris asked, apparently horrified at the thought. 

Derek smiled coldly, “Why not? You all like to sit in your positions of power and get others to fight your battles for you.” 

“Whereas you prefer to dally with your harems and not fight at all,” said Victoria. 

Stiles gave a slight snort of laughter. Derek turned to give him a minor glare, but he wasn’t actually angry. The reaction had caught the Argents off guard and that could only be a good thing. 

“Sorry,” said Stiles. “Bad mental image. I’ll shut up now.” 

Derek looked back at Victoria, “I don’t care if you plot against Deucalion. Hell, if you were to kill him, I’d probably send you a fruit basket. But if you try to hurt innocent people to do it, I’ll do whatever I can to stop you. If you come after any of my pack again, I will kill you.” 

“We haven’t done anything to your pack,” Chris said. “We spoke to one of your slaves.” He stressed the final word. Derek wanted to rip the man’s throat out and for a fraction of a second he considered giving in and letting the animal within claim take control for long enough to do it. 

It was Stiles who broke the silence, “So far, you’re the ones who’ve treated me like a tool to be used instead of a person.” 

Chris looked angry, “You think because he’s nice to you that everything’s alright? People are enslaved and abused by werewolves every day and the system lets it happen. You think because you’re OK then that means the situation should just be allowed?” 

“Of course not,” Stiles said, “but murdering Kelly isn’t right either, you amoral bastard. She has not done anything wrong and you’d have killed her to make a political point. You know what that makes you? A terrorist!” 

For once in his life, Derek had no intention of telling Stiles to shut up. This was glorious to watch. Particularly, when Allison quietly said: “He’s got a point.” 

“I’ve no problem with you wanting to end slavery,” Derek said, “but death is not the way to do it. This invitation was a courtesy, a friendly warning. If you go against my pack, I will fight you. If you plan to change things in a peaceful way, good luck to you. Just don’t interfere with my plans.” 

“What plans?” Victoria asked. 

Derek gave another cold smile, “You’re not the only ones who think the system could do with a change.” 

***  
When the Argents were gone, the rest of the pack came to join them. Scott looked towards Stiles. 

“You got your discovery face in the middle of that,” Scott said. “What did you work out?” 

“Discovery face?” Stiles asked. 

“Yeah. It’s the look you always get when you work out a difficult problem, sort of part excited and part smug at your own genius. What was it this time?” 

“We’ve been looking at the Deucalion situation from the wrong angle,” Stiles said. “Derek, when you lost control, what was the first thing that happened?” 

“Apparently I tried to attack you.” Derek had no memory of the events, so he wasn’t sure why Stiles was asking him. 

“OK, the second thing then,” Stile said. “Scott came to protect me. He was ready to fight you and would have done if you hadn’t woken up and come back to yourself.” 

“What’s your point?” 

“Scott! If Deucalion wanted you dead, he could have made an offer to any of the pack. Hell, he could have made the offer to all of them, on the off-chance one of them took him up on it. But he didn’t. He just talked to Scott. Scott refused and now you’re losing control and Scott steps in to stop you hurting me. He’s trying to force you into a fight but it’s not because he wants you dead, it’s because of Scott.” 

“But why?” Scott asked. 

“I’ve not figured that out yet,” Stiles said, “but I’m pretty sure Deucalion is trying to get you to kill Derek and become the alpha.” 

"Why me?" Scott asked again. 

Stiles shrugged. 

Derek had a more pressing question, "How does this help us fix it?” 

"I haven't figured that part out either,” Stiles admitted. 

So they were a step closer to figuring out Deucalion’s motives but no closer to figuring out how to fix this. Derek was still an out of control monster waiting to happen. He wanted to sleep so badly now but he couldn’t risk it. It was therefore very hard to feel excited about Stiles’ deductions. 

***

Stiles was not having much luck. He still hadn’t found anything that would undo the spell that was over Derek. He’d shifted his focus now onto the statue, since that still seemed to be the most likely cause of the curse. He wondered about isolating that. If the statue was actively making Derek lose control, then cutting the connection between them should make Derek alright. He hoped. It would also be a sign that destroying the statue would end the spell. 

If this didn’t work, he’d go back to the drawing board. 

So Stiles spent some time looking up protective rituals and everything kept coming back to the idea of a protective circle. Stories and myths and websites of magic all talked about how a circle could keep something in or keep something out, particularly where magic was concerned. The other common denominator was mountain ash. An unbroken barrier of mountain ash could form a protection against supernatural elements including, Stiles was pleased to learn, rampaging werewolves. 

So he called supplies and asked them to get him some. Then he found Derek and got Derek to make that call because apparently it was highly suspicious for a slave to order a substance capable of keeping his master away from him. Derek snarled and snapped down the phone saying that he was training his pack and he’d appreciate not being second guessed. Lack of sleep had been making Derek crankier by the day so Stiles really hoped this work. 

The pack gathered in Derek’s bedroom, which now had a wide expanse of empty floor where the bed had been. Stiles had a whole tub of mountain ash to work with and the wolves had, with extreme care, retrieved the suspect statue. 

As an extra precaution, Stiles had retrieved the crate of bondage gear Kali had provided. Stiles had spent some of his research time on those and he had a whole new insight into the world of BDSM. He just hoped that the rest of the contents of Kali’s gift proved to be as indestructible as the cuffs and chains. 

“What are those?” Derek asked, as Stiles approached him with the first items. 

“Bondage mitts,” Stiles answered, as though the answer was obvious and not something he’d picked up about an hour ago on a porn site. The mitts appeared to be made of leather, and folded over so that the wearer’s hands would be forced into a fist. These would keep Derek’s claws firmly out of action, Stiles hoped. Stiles helped Derek get them on and then buckled them shut. Derek’s hands were now useless to him. 

“Can you claw your way out?” Stiles asked. Derek tried, straining against the leather, flashing of red in his eyes as he part shifted his hands. 

“No,” Derek answered a minute later. 

Stiles next went for the cuffs that he’d warn at the full moon feast. They were simple enough and would hold Derek’s hands in front of him. There was another pair in the crate that Stiles fastened around Derek’s ankles. Derek wouldn’t be able to walk or run in those cuffs so it would be easy for the rest of the pack to restrain him if something went wrong. 

Stiles opened the tub of mountain ash. Holding the tub in one arm, he used his free hand to retrieve handfuls of the stuff. He moved around Derek in a slow circle, letting the ash drop through his fingers. He thought of barriers. He thought of walls. He thought of holding Derek back. Every step, he willed the barrier to form, he willed the ash to hold. 

The circle stood complete. 

Stiles stepped back. Derek raised his cuffed and mitted hands, reaching out into the empty air. He stopped. He pressed against the air and Stiles saw a faint, bluish light. He grinned. The barrier held. 

“It worked,” Isaac said. He stepped up to the circle and pressed from the outside, seeing the same blue light and impenetrable wall of energy. 

“You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Stiles said, though he was himself a little surprised, not to mention exhilarated. He’d just done magic. 

He made a second circle around the statue. Cora tested it, finding it as impossible to pass as the circle around Derek, though Stiles found he could wave his hand through both with ease. He guessed that was the advantage of being the human in the group. 

“Time to see if this works,” Stiles said. “Derek, transform.” 

Derek looked up at Stiles, “Leave the room first. If this goes wrong, you could get hurt.” 

“No way. I’m the only one who can do the ash magic.” 

“Stiles, please.” 

Stiles folded his arms and met Derek glare for glare. 

“You’ll have to get through magic barriers, unbreakable bondage gear and a pack of werewolves to hurt me. If you can get through all that, do you really think me being in a different room would help?” 

Derek glowered, which Stiles interpreted as him being unable to think up a suitable counter to that argument. Stiles smirked in triumph and then waited in anticipation and fear for what was to come. The werewolf pack closed in a defensive circle around the ash barrier, ready to step in if Derek somehow broke free. 

It seemed like everyone in the room held their breaths as Derek began to transform.


	37. Chapter 37

Derek shifted into his full alpha form, growing taller, growing furrier, just growing. He didn’t look like a real wolf, but something more terrifying, standing on two legs and looking out at them with glowing red eyes. 

For a moment, Stiles thought it had worked. Derek stood there in the centre of the circle, motionless now that he’d finished changing. Then his eyes looked on Stiles’. He leapt forwards, or tried to. He tripped on the cuffs around his ankles and then slammed into the ash barrier. He beat his bound arms against the barrier like there was an invisible wall there, growling and snarling as he did so. The rest of the pack took an instinctive step back from this rampaging beast, even though it was clear Derek wasn’t about to break through the circle. 

“Derek,” Cora said. “Derek, you need to shift back. You need to get in control again. Do you understand me?” 

It wasn’t clear whether Derek understood, but he stopped his frantic thrashing. He crouched in the centre of the circle, a low growl in the back of his throat. He didn’t seem to be shifting back. 

“Derek?” Cora asked again. She stepped closer to the edge of the circle. “Derek, come back to us.” 

Derek threw back his head and roared. The sound was astonishing. It seemed to shake the room, the air vibrating with the noise. It spoke of rage and power and the need to kill. Stiles slammed his hands over his ears but the sound kept coming, travelling through his very bones. 

When the roar faded, Stiles could hear nothing but the ringing in his ears. Derek was still in the circle. He was still trapped. Stiles had an instant to feel relieved that at least there was still no danger. 

Then Cora turned to look at Stiles. Her eyes shone yellow. Her teeth and nails lengthened as she shifted into her wolf form. The ringing in Stiles’ ears faded enough for him to hear a snarling noise coming from either side of him. Isaac and Erica were staring at Stiles too, wolf eyes showing no trace of mercy. 

“Stiles, run!” Scott yelled. 

“Why didn’t it affect you?” Stiles asked. 

“Who cares? Just run!” 

Stiles started for the door. He didn’t even make it two steps before someone slammed into him from behind, tackling him to the ground. He felt claws against his back, scratching just hard enough to break skin. He tried to pull away, tried to at least see who it was who held him. 

Then Scott was there. He grabbed hold of the other werewolf, hurling them aside. Stiles turned over and saw Cora flying across the room. She hit the circle surrounding the statue and crashed to the ground. Scott positioned himself in front of Stiles as Erica and Isaac leapt. They fought in a tangle of blood and claws and Stiles scrambled to his feet, aiming for the door again. 

Cora regained her feet and charged across the room. She grabbed hold of Stiles’ arm, claws digging into his flesh. She yanked Stiles around as though he weighed no more than a doll. He found himself on the floor again, on his back this time, with Cora still holding his arm. She twisted and agony burst in his shoulder. He gave a cry of pain. 

Scott appeared over Stiles, raking his claws down Cora’s chest until she let go. 

Scott roared. 

It was louder than Derek’s had been. The sound was a solid force that shook the room and reached into the hearts of everyone there. 

Stiles got a good look at Scott’s eyes. The yellow shifted, darkened. By the end of the roar, Scott’s eyes shone a brilliant red. 

As the last echoes faded, Stiles was finally able to look away from Scott. He looked round the rest of the room and saw the other werewolves of the pack in human forms, looking confused and ashamed. Even Derek. The sound of Scott’s roar and forced him back into his human shape. 

“What the hell?” Stiles asked, getting to his feet. “What the hell? Seriously, what the hell?” 

Scott just shook his head, “I have no idea.” 

“You’re an alpha,” Derek said. 

“But how?” 

No one had an answer for that. 

***

Stiles’ shoulder wasn’t dislocated but it would be sore for a few days. He had scratches on his back and arm but he didn’t think the pack had actually been trying to hurt him. They could have killed him easily if they’d wanted to. Derek said that he’d wanted Stiles to break the circle, that the pack had been supposed to force him into doing that. But Derek hadn’t been quite looking at him when he said it. Stiles might not be able to hear people’s heartbeats, but he was pretty sure Derek had been holding something back. 

The spell seemed to be broken anyway. They’d tested multiple times and eventually reached the conclusion that Scott’s roar, however that had happened, had done more than just temporarily transform Derek back into human form. There was just one final test: whether sleep would make him lose control again. 

Stiles had left Derek to nap on the bedroom floor, with Scott standing guard in case anything went wrong. Since he hadn’t heard from either of them, it was a safe bet that Derek was now finally getting some sleep. 

Stiles went back to the study, hunting for the books in which he’d read about the werewolf roar, hunting for some answers. He found again that reference to the true alpha and he searched the books on werewolf lore until he could find another, find the truth behind these mysteries. A true alpha, hidden in the secret words. An alpha who could become an alpha without the need to kill, without needing to steal the power from another. An alpha who could become an alpha through sheer strength of will. 

By tradition, other alphas would yield to the authority of a true alpha. The first Council of Alphas had apparently been called by a true alpha, but they were rare. And the power of a true alpha was fragile. Reading the passages in an old book, Stiles finally thought he understood. 

Deucalion wasn’t a true alpha but Scott was. Scott could claim leadership of the Council, he could take Deucalion’s place. But if Scott had taken power by killing, as almost every other alpha did, then his true powers would never manifest. All of this, the curse, the danger, had been about pitting Scott against Derek, trying to force Scott to make the kill. Because if Scott had killed Derek, he would have been just another alpha under Deucalion’s authority. 

Now, with the power unleashed by that roar, Scott could take over. 

***

Derek was free of the spell, but not of the guilt. He slept, finally, but his rest was disturb by nightmares. He dreamt of hurting Stiles, of claiming, of owning him. There was some animal part of him that still thought of Stiles as prey, as his. When the rage had taken over, he’d wanted to own Stiles completely, to mark him so that no one else would touch him. 

As much as he wanted to believe that he was better than that, he knew that the source of those feelings hadn’t come from any spell. 

He slept, badly. He woke a few times to see Scott watching him. The third time, he told Scott to go get some sleep himself. Derek wasn’t going to lose control again tonight. Scott hesitated for a moment. Derek could almost see the thoughts whirling through his mind. Scott was wondering if he needed to obey Derek’s orders. He was wondering which of them was really the alpha here. 

In the end, Scott nodded and went off to find his own bed. Derek lay in the darkness, drifting between sleep and despair. He needed to make Stiles understand. He was dangerous. He was a threat, especially to Stiles. Stiles had challenged his authority, had caged him, and the beast wanted revenge, wanted to put Stiles in his rightful place, kneeling at Derek’s feet. 

Derek needed to make Stiles understand. They’d had this discussion before but Stiles had shrugged off the danger. He couldn’t throw Stiles out; Stiles wouldn’t pay any attention if he tried. Stiles would have to choose to go. Derek didn’t know how to persuade him, but perhaps there was someone who could. 

Derek gave up on sleep just as it was beginning to get light. He spent slightly longer than usual wondering about which clothes to wear, and in the end went for casual but not scruffy. He took the Camaro. The others would have to use a different car to get to school. 

It was still barely morning when he reached the Stilinski house, but the sheriff was already up, getting ready for work. He was surprised when Derek knocked on the door, and instantly worried. 

“Is Stiles OK?” he asked. 

“He’s...” Derek struggled to think of a way to answer. He couldn’t say that Stiles was fine or safe because the whole reason he came here was because he wasn’t. But the longer he hesitated, the more scared he could see the sheriff getting. 

“He’s not in immediate danger,” Derek settled for. 

“Immediate?” the sheriff instantly picked out that word. 

“Can I come in?” 

The sheriff stepped aside to let Derek in and he closed the door behind him. Derek hesitated again. 

“How long have you got before work?” Derek asked. 

“I can call them and say I’ll be late.” 

Derek nodded. A minute later, they were sitting at the Stilinskis’ kitchen table. Derek started talking. He didn’t stop for a long time. He told the sheriff everything. Some of it he already knew, but some of it came as a surprise. 

He talked about Peter biting Scott, the need to pretend he was still human to protect the pack, and how Stiles had stumbled into the middle of it all. He explained about the agreement for Stiles to pretend to be a slave to improve Derek’s standing among the werewolves. He revealed the long-term goal to get changes to the law, and the need to get onto the Council of Alphas to do that. The sheriff nodded along; he’d heard or figured this out after the Argents had kidnapped Stiles. 

Then Derek told him about the curse, about losing control and attacking Stiles. He heard the sheriff’s intake of breath, but the man stayed otherwise quiet, waiting for Derek to finish the story. Derek told him about Stiles’ research, about the experiment with the mountain ash and about the fight that had followed. He even explained what had happened with Scott. 

“Is Stiles alright?” the sheriff asked when Derek finished. 

“He’s a bit scratched,” Derek said, “but nothing serious. I’m worried about him though. Being with me is constantly putting him in danger. It’s not just enemies and kidnap and curses. A few days ago, he could have got hurt because...” He stopped talking, remembering that he was talking to Stiles’ father and that this was not a subject he really wanted to discuss with this man. 

“Because?” the sheriff prompted. 

Derek avoided his eyes, “The bed broke. Stiles could have got hurt but he just found it hilarious.” 

The sheriff stared at him for a minute. He swallowed. Then he spoke. 

“OK, this is my son we’re talking about. I own a gun and if you ever bring up this subject again, I will use it on you. Understood?” Derek nodded. “OK then.” 

“I don’t want Stiles to get hurt,” Derek said. “I tried to get him to leave but he’s infuriatingly stubborn.” 

“And he’s in love with you. Not a good combination.” 

“Yeah. I want to keep Stiles safe and he’s not going to be safe around me. How do I get him to understand that? How do I get him to leave me?” 

Sheriff Stilinski leaned across the table. “Derek, I’m going to tell you something and you are not to repeat it. I mean it. If Stiles ever hears about this, I will make sure there are wolfsbane bullets in my gun when I shoot you. Got it?” 

Derek nodded. 

The sheriff continued, “When Claudia was about two months pregnant with Stiles, she came to visit me at the station. I was just a junior deputy at the time, working long shifts and she came to bring me some lunch. There was this whacko who’d been arrested for armed robbery and he somehow broke loose and grabbed one of the other officers’ guns. He took Claudia hostage.” 

Derek listened in silence. He didn’t need werewolf senses to hear the strain in the man’s voice, to hear how difficult this story was. So he stayed quiet and waited for the sheriff to gather his strength and continue. 

“It was all over quickly. Claudia was fine, the guy was locked up, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My job was dangerous and because of my job Claudia and my unborn child were in danger too. I couldn’t bear the thought of them being hurt because of me. So I left them. I walked out on my pregnant wife because I was scared that they would get hurt and I knew that would kill me. She was heart-broken, but I was so certain I was doing the right thing.” 

“What changed your mind?” Derek asked, after a long silence where it seemed that the sheriff was never going to finish the story. 

“She slipped in the shower. She broke her ankle and couldn’t get out of the tub. And I wasn’t home to hear her yelling for help. She only got out because one of her friends had heard about me leaving and wanted to check up on her. I left because I was afraid of putting her in danger but she could have died because I’d left.” He took a breath. “My point is, Derek, we don’t know what’s going to be dangerous. I can’t say I’m thrilled that he’s a position where people are going to threaten him, but I am glad that he’s got someone who cares about him as much as you do looking after him. So no, Derek, I’m not going to help you break up with my son. You’re stuck with him now. Welcome to the family.”


	38. Chapter 38

Derek was probably going to kill him, but Stiles had plans for when school finished. He was skipping off lacrosse practice on the grounds that his back still hurt like hell from when Cora had clawed it to ribbons. Not that Stiles had told coach that. Now there were rumours going round about wild animal sex and Stiles had heard the word ‘bestiality’ a few times too many today. So Scott and Isaac were going to be at practice, while Cora and Erica had girl-type plans that Stiles had kept well clear of. That meant that Stiles had time before he would be expected back at the compound. 

He’d driven his jeep to school and no one had questioned it, particularly since Derek had taken the Camaro for some reason. When school ended, he grabbed the folder of papers he’d stashed in his locker and he slipped away, hoping no one would notice. 

He had the name and address printed out. He had to do this now, because who knew when the next crisis would hit. There seemed to be a new disaster every five minutes and he wasn’t going to let this plan slide. 

He found the small house in the outskirts of Beacon Hills. It was nothing special. The lawn needed mowing and the paint was peeling a little, but otherwise it was a pleasant little home in a little corner of suburbia. Stiles parked his jeep and shrugged off his jacket. He’d made a point to wear a short-sleeved shirt today. There were still visible marks on his upper arm from where Erica had clawed him what felt like a lifetime ago, and now a fresh set showed on his forearm from where Cora had grabbed him. There was even a little bit of bruising on the other arm from where he’d hit the floor. 

One battered and abused slave, coming right up. 

He got out of the jeep, tucking the folder under one arm, and he walked up and rang the front door bell. He didn’t have to wait long for an answer. The door was opened by a heavyset woman who looked at Stiles suspiciously, as though expecting him to start selling something. 

“Are you Matilda Evan?”

“Yes. Can I help you?” she asked. 

“Actually, I was hoping I could help you. I’m Stiles. I’m Derek Hale’s body slave. I’d like to talk to you about HER.” 

He made a point of fidgeting, running his fingers over the claw marks on his arm, as though nervous about them. Her eyes were drawn to the movement and she took in the broken skin, the older marks further up his arm, evidence that this wasn’t a one-time thing. She quickly stepped aside. 

“Come in. Of course, come in.” 

She showed him to the kitchen and made a pot of tea. Stiles set the folder down on the table and sat down. 

“How did you find me?” she asked. 

“I found your website and it was easy enough to figure out who owned the URL. You might want to be more discrete about that. I can give you tips, if you’d like.” 

“Does the alpha know you’re here?” 

“No. The guys in the pack are at lacrosse practice so no one will notice I’m gone until that’s over. We’ve got a little bit of time.” 

Matilda finished with the tea, setting the pot down on the table next to a couple of cups and a milk jug. She poured for him, as though he was some helpless invalid. 

“Why did you come?” she asked. 

“I want to end slavery,” he said, “but I can’t do it from where I am. I’ve got ideas and I can get access to information, but no one can know I’m the one who’s given you this stuff. I can help you to change the world, but you’ve got to swear to me that you won’t tell a soul that I’m doing this. Please.” 

He fidgeted again with the cuts on his arm. She reached across the table and lay her hand over his, stilling his nervous movements. 

“I promise. This situation, this legalised slavery, is intolerable. I want to stop it, but I won’t put you in any more danger than you’re already in.” 

Stiles smiled at her. It wasn’t difficult to fake. She was being so sweet and genuine that he was already starting to like her. So he opened up the folder. 

“The problem,” he said, “is that the people who have the power to change the law are those with the most to gain from the status quo: the werewolves. Specifically, the Council of Alphas. As humans, we can say that there needs to be a change but nothing will ever happen. The only way we’re going to get change is if the werewolves say it.” 

“How do you propose doing that?” 

“We ask them. I’ve made a list of every alpha pack in the country who has never taken a slave. It doesn’t prove that they disapprove of slavery, but it’s a good place to start. Every werewolf pack holds a public audience on the first Saturday of the month. Anyone can walk in and address the alpha and the whole thing is covered by the press. Someone walks in there and asks whether the alpha thinks it’s right that minors can be taken as sex slaves by werewolves and the answer will be all over the news.” 

"What if they approve of the slavery laws?" 

“Then use that as a weapon against them. They might think they’re better than us, but they still need humans. If they say they stand by the slavery laws, put that on the news, on the internet. Get people posting gifs of it on tumblr. Make people notice. At the moment, people don’t think about the slavery laws because it doesn’t affect them. We need to get them thinking.” 

“This will get attention from the werewolves.” 

“That’s what we need. Asking a question isn’t illegal and if they get angry about it, that’s another weapon. We need to get everyone in the country talking about this issue and then we need soundbites from werewolves who oppose the laws. We need to get all the werewolves who oppose the law to go on record saying it, and we need all the ones who sit on the fence to be so worried about the human reaction that they’ll say they oppose it. Then we call for the law to be changed.” 

“You really think this will work?” she asked. 

“I think so. I hope so.” He handed her the list. “These are the alphas to start with. After that, we’ll see what the reaction is from the other packs to see who else to approach.” 

“What else is in that file?” 

“Articles and photos, reports of body slaves being hospitalised. The packs try to hush it up when it happens, so there are probably more cases that don’t make the news. If we get people talking, more stories come to light.” 

“What about you?” Matilda asked. She gestured towards the claw marks on his arm. “Could I get some photos of your injuries?” 

Stiles hesitated. He knew he was supposed to be discrete here. He was supposed to be the invisible force behind the movement. 

“I can keep your face out of them,” Matilda said. “I wouldn’t want them to be identifiable.” 

“OK,” Stiles said, “but not the arms. Too many people have seen those.” 

“There are other injuries?” 

Stiles stood up. He lifted up his t-shirt and turned his back, displaying the claw marks that cut jagged lines through his flesh. 

“Oh, Stiles,” she breathed. She reached out a hand. Stiles gave a hiss of pain as her fingers traced one of the deeper marks. 

“We’ll stop this, Stiles,” Matilda said. “I promise.” 

She went to fetch a camera and took a few photos of the claw marks on his back, careful to keep all the pictures close ups. She let him look at the pictures afterwards and Stiles was sure no one would be able to identify him from them. Then he lifted up his jeans and showed the fading green and yellow of old bruise. He’d been hit by the canopy when the bed broke and the result had been a pretty spectacular bruise. It had faded considerably, but there was enough there for the photos. 

Matilda ended the meeting with hugging him gingerly and swearing she’d do everything in her power to get him his freedom back. Stiles felt bad that he was manipulating her, but he really did think this was the best way to help her achieve her goals. 

Stiles got back in his jeep and headed for the compound, arriving a little later than he would normally get there if he’d been to practice. This wasn’t good. Derek would have had time to realise he’d disappeared, particularly if Isaac and Scott had got back already. 

Sure enough, he made it about three steps from his jeep when his phone buzzed with an incoming text. Derek was asking where he was. 

_Just got back. See you in a minute_ Stiles typed back. He yanked off his shoes, grabbed his school stuff and headed upstairs. 

When he got to the suite, Derek and Isaac were inside. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Derek demanded, angrier than Stiles would have expected, especially given that he hadn’t confessed yet. 

“I went to see Matilda Evan, the woman who runs HER. I know we said we’d discuss it first but I only gave her the stuff we’d talked about and I still think it’s the best way to...” 

Derek cut him off, “Did Scott go with you?” 

“No. Why?” 

“He skipped practice,” Isaac said. “I assumed he was with you.” 

“I haven’t seen him since lunch. I thought he was at practice.” 

Stiles grabbed his phone from his pocket, suddenly worried. 

“He’s not been answering,” Derek said. Sure enough, the phone rang through the voicemail. Stiles left a brief messaging demanding that Scott call him back. 

“He didn’t say anything to you?” Derek asked. 

“No. Nothing. Have the girls seen him?” 

“I called Cora. She has no idea where he is.” 

Stiles felt the now-familiar terror setting in. He’d been right to think that another crisis had to be on the way. This time, Scott was the one in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is actually an end in sight for this now ridiculously long story. I'm not sure how long it will take to get there, but I have the final chapter firmly in mind.


	39. Chapter 39

Scott’s phone started ringing again as he pulled the borrowed car into a parking space. He hadn’t been able to look at the phone while driving, but he had a pretty good guess who it was who’d been phoning and texting him for the past half hour. Sure enough, when he put the car in park and grabbed his phone from his pocket, Stiles’ name showed on the screen. 

For a moment, Scott considered letting this call go to voicemail too, but he’d have to face their anger sooner or later, so he hit the button to answer. 

“Hi, Stiles,” he said. 

“Scott? What the hell?” Stiles demanded. “Where are you?” 

Scott looked at the big, brick building he was parked beside and hesitated. 

“Derek will kill me when I tell you,” he said. 

He could hear Stiles sigh, “If you’re off making out with Allison, _I’ll_ kill you.” 

“It’s not like that. I’m... Look, I’ll call you later, OK? When I know if this is going to work.” 

“No. Not OK, Scott. We have had to deal with kidnappings and magic curses so you can’t just disappear and act OK.” 

“I’ll be fine, Stiles,” Scott cut him off mid-rant. He hit the button to end the call, then looked up again at the big, brick building. He hoped he’d be fine. 

He got out of the car, which he’d borrowed from the compound without anyone so much as batting an eyelid. There were perks to being recognised as a werewolf. Now it was time to see how much he could get for his new status. He headed up to the front entrance, looking at the patterns in the brickwork, the carved stonework beneath the windows. This place was old, steeped in history, so different from the modern compound that the Hale pack had built after the fire. The buildings seemed like the perfect metaphors for the packs. The Hale compound was huge and new and shiny, built with too much marble and too much pretentiousness, trying so hard to be impressive with its armies of gardeners and household staff. This building didn’t have to try. It was older, it was established. Everyone knew the power held here, so it didn’t need to make the effort. 

Walking up the steps towards the entrance of this building was more terrifying than walking into the Hale compound ever could be, but Scott kept his heart rate steady. He held his head high. He walked like an alpha. 

There was no sign of human security, but Scott barely made it through the door when a huge guy appeared from apparently nowhere, glowering down at him with eyes that shone red. It took all of Scott’s control to keep his heart from hammering itself out of his chest. 

“What do you want?” the big guy asked. 

“I would like to talk to Deucalion,” Scott said. 

“You can’t just walk in here and demand to see him.” 

“I didn’t demand. I asked politely. I’m Scott McCall and I think he’ll be interested in talking to me.” Scott let his eyes shift, showing their new colour. The big guy didn’t even try to hide his surprise. 

"Wait here," he said, with just a hint of a snarl. 

Scott didn't have to wait long. The big guy appeared almost at once and angrily gestured for Scott to follow. Deucalion’s great hall was smaller than Derek’s, with considerably less marble, but the tall, narrow windows along one wall didn’t seem to do anything to dispel the darkness. In fact, they just seemed to make the far end of the hall darker by contrast, so that Deucalion seemed to sit in a canopy of shadows. Deucalion’s chair was old, carved from ancient wood and so polished by countless occupants that it was difficult to tell now what the carvings were meant to be. He sat in a throne of time, his power coming from centuries of tradition. Scott felt the new, feeble upstart as he walked up to him and gave the polite bow. 

Deucalion bowed his head in response. He didn’t even have to see Scott to know what he’d be doing. Even without cameras and reporters here, some traditions must be followed. 

“Ennis tells me you’re an alpha now,” Deucalion said. 

“That’s right.” 

“I have to say you kept the challenge quiet. I didn’t realise that Derek was dead.” 

“He’s not. I didn’t challenge Derek.” 

If Deucalion was surprised, he didn’t show it. 

“Then who did you challenge?” 

“I didn’t challenge anyone,” Scott answered. “This power came from within me. I believe it’s called being a true alpha.” 

Scott heard a faint noise from behind him, an angry sound of a low growl from Ennis. Deucalion just shifted slightly in his chair, an amused smile on his face. 

“Are you here to challenge me?” Deucalion asked. “Are you here to claim your rightful place as leader of the Council of Alphas?” 

“Of course not,” Scott answered. “Being a leader isn’t just about power. It’s about knowledge and experience. I don’t have those. Yet.” 

"So why are you here, Scott?" 

“When we spoke before, you implied that you’d get me a seat on the Council if I became an alpha. I want that seat. More than that, I want you to teach me. You know about all the politics and the games and all the subtleties I don’t get yet. If I’m ever going to live up to my potential and lead the Council, I need a mentor.” 

“So I teach you all I know and then you kill me?”

“That’s not going to happen. I’m not a killer. I didn’t kill Derek and I won’t kill you.” Scott took a breath, “But you’re not immortal. Maybe someone else will challenge you. Maybe you’ll die of old age. Maybe you’ll just decide you want to retire down to Florida or something. Someday, someone will take over from you as the leader of the Council. Why not have it be a successor you’ve trained?” 

Scott wasn’t sure this would work, but Deucalion liked to plan ahead. He would like the idea that he could in some way control what happened on the Council after he was gone. If he thought Scott was young enough to be moulded, he might go for it. 

“You didn’t seem too interested the last time we spoke,” Deucalion said. 

“You were trying to get me to kill a friend. I’m never going to be interested in that.” 

Deucalion’s blind eyes looked past Scott, to where Ennis still waited. 

“Give us some privacy,” Deucalion said. Scott kept his eyes fixed on Deucalion as he heard Ennis’ footsteps and the opening and closing of a door. 

“Many come to the Council, come to me, looking for power,” Deucalion said, “but you’re not like them, are you? What do you really want, Scott?” 

“I want to make a difference. I want to use what I have to make the world better.” 

“Noble,” Deucalion said the word as though he wanted to laugh it out. “I remember a young man like you, full of ideas and ideals about how humans and werewolves could live together in peace.” 

“What happened to him?” Scott asked. 

“The humans betrayed us and the Argents stole my sight.” 

Scott took a chance. He’d come here expecting to deal with the wolf, with the alpha of alphas, with the powerful leader of the Council. Maybe he should change his tactics. Maybe he should stop thinking of Deucalion as the alpha. Maybe he should remember that he was still a human being in there too. So Scott spoke: “It doesn’t mean you weren’t right to try.” 

***

Derek was too angry at Scott right now to be properly angry at Stiles, but he had plenty of anger to go round. He was mad that Stiles had gone to the HER woman on his own, without so much as telling him. Now that it was clear that Scott wasn’t dead, at least for now, Derek shifted the focus of his anger back to Stiles. They stood alone in Derek’s suite, arguing. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” he said. “We said we’d discuss it before you went to them.” 

“I only gave her the information we’d already talked about,” Stiles said. “Besides, I knew that if I didn’t do it soon, we’d have to wait another month for them to get organised and with the number of crises we’ve had recently, I didn’t want to wait.” 

“Fine. Then why didn’t you tell me that _before_ you went to see her.” 

“I was afraid you’d stop me from going.” 

“Damn it, Stiles! I might have told one of the others to go keep watch in case this HER thing turned out to be a cover for hunters, but I wouldn’t have tried to stop you.” 

“You wouldn’t?” He actually looked surprised. That hurt. That was a stab of pain in Derek’s heart that pushed the anger out of the way and left a hollow ache of sadness in its place. Stiles hadn’t told him because Stiles still didn’t really trust him. 

Derek sank down into the couch, feeling suddenly worn. The tiredness of the past few days caught up with him. 

“I know how much this means to you, Stiles. I know that ending slavery is what it’s always been about for you. I thought we were in this together.” 

“I...” Stiles took a step towards him. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was stupid not to tell you.” 

“And dangerous. Have you forgotten that there are still hunters who might use you to get to me?” 

“Right. It was stupid and dangerous. I should have told you.” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Derek nodded, an acknowledgement that he’d heard the apology but not quite forgiveness. Not yet. Derek had tried to make decisions for Stiles, tried to send him away. He’d been trying to protect Stiles but Stiles had still got angry that he’d been left out of the decision-making. Now Stiles had left Derek out, gone off on his own, and the hypocrisy of it hurt. Derek looked up at Stiles. 

“Decisions that affect both of us should be made by both of us,” he said. “If I don’t get to decide that you’re safer away from me, you don’t get to decide to meddle with activist groups without at least telling me.” 

“You’re right,” Stiles said. “I’m sorry. I’ve said I’m sorry. What more do you want? Do you want to put me over your knee and spank me?” 

Derek was speechless in the face of that mental image. So it appeared was Stiles. Derek could practically see the thoughts racing behind his eyes as his brain caught up with his mouth and he realised what he’d just said. Stiles swallowed, a slight grin replacing the earlier anger. 

“Do you want to put me over your knee and spank me?” he offered. 

Derek was tempted. There was the idea of making Stiles think twice before going off on his own, but more than that, he wanted to know what it would feel like to have Stiles squirming, helpless over his knee. Derek could smell arousal coming off Stiles in waves at the very thought, and that scent was intoxicating. But Derek was still a little angry. It would be too easy for him to make a mistake and then Stiles could really get hurt. 

“Not right now,” Derek said. 

“Not right now? So there might be other times when... OK. I can wait, I guess. But does this mean we’re done arguing?” 

Derek laughed despite himself. It was hard to stay angry at Stiles, no matter how infuriating he could be. 

“Yeah. We’re done arguing.” 

“Good,” Stiles said. He came over to the couch, standing with his legs either side of Derek’s knees. He placed his hands on the back of the couch and leaned forward, kissing Derek fully on the lips. Then he pulled back, grinning, teasing. 

“Because I’ve got a ton of homework I’m getting really behind on,” Stiles said. 

He started to walk away. Derek grabbed him around the waist and tugged him back. Stiles gave in to Derek’s power and let himself be dragged onto the couch beside him. Derek snaked a hand behind Stiles’ back and pulled him in for another kiss. 

Then Stiles’ phone buzzed. 

Stiles swore under his breath as he reached for his pocket. 

“It’s Scott,” Stiles said. All thoughts of sex were gone and Stiles opened up the text. “Oh, Scott, you idiot,” Stiles muttered. Then he handed the phone to Derek so he could read the text. 

_You’ll have at least one vote against slavery. Deucalion’s given me a place on the Council of Alphas._


	40. Chapter 40

Scott was invited to have dinner with Deucalion. Ennis came to deliver the news, looking at Scott with a mixture of contempt and confusion as he said it. There was undisguised anger there as well. Clearly he didn’t understand why Scott was there, why Deucalion was supporting his claim as alpha, or why Deucalion was now being nice to him and inviting him for meals. Scott wondered how often the members of Deucalion’s strange pack of alphas were invited to dinner. 

This place had a formal dining room, but the invite was to Deucalion’s private quarters. Scott was more than a little nervous as he knocked on the door and was invited to enter. The room was large but gloomy, Scott supposed Deucalion didn’t need to bother much with lighting. Perhaps this was his way of levelling the playing field with his guests. It was far more formal than Derek’s suite back in the compound, with a small dining table at one side of the room and a pair of armchairs in front of a fire on the other. There was no sign of anything which showed the room was actually lived in, aside from the table laid for dinner. Deucalion was already sitting and he gestured for Scott to do the same. 

Servants turned up almost immediately, so fast that Scott suspected they’d been waiting for a signal of his arrival. They laid out plates of beef stew in front of the two werewolves. There would be no scrabbling to grab the best food from communal dishes here. Another sign of how different it would be from Derek’s compound. Meals in Derek’s compound were relaxed. Here, Scott felt he should be wearing a suit. 

Scott didn’t know what to say, so he waited quietly, eating slowly when Deucalion began to eat. He began to wonder how long the silence might drag out for. At last, Deucalion spoke. 

“I am curious,” he said slowly, “how your powers manifested. How did you bring about this change?” 

“It happened to stop the curse,” Scott said. 

“Curse?” Deucalion tilted his head, appearing genuinely confused. His heart rate hadn’t shifted, but that could just be because he was skilled at lying. 

“The spell you put on Derek.” 

“I put no spell on anyone.” 

“So it’s pure coincidence that he was under the influence of magic that interfered with his control of his wolf side, right after you gave him a statue about keeping his spirit in balance and made comments about his need for control?” Scott tried to phrase it as a question not an accusation. Probably not well enough to fool anyone with ears. 

Deucalion set his fork down. He raised a napkin to his face and dabbed at the corner of his mouth. Then he lowered the napkin again. Every movement was slow and casual. Scott found himself tensed up, waiting to be attacked. 

“I am deeply suspicious of anything that appears to be a coincidence,” Deucalion said, “but I was not behind any spell.” 

He could be lying. Scott wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell either way with this guy, but he didn’t get why he would lie. 

“I simply wanted to be rid of that ugly statue. You’re certain the statue was the cause?” 

“Of course it,” Scott began. He stopped. They’d all assumed the statue was the problem because it came from Deucalion, plus the metaphor about controlling the wolf spirit seemed too obvious. But there’d been something else that had come as a gift, something which apparently Derek had been using the night he’d lost control the first time. When they’d tried the ash circle, which should have blocked all magical influences, some of Kali’s gifts had been inside the circle. 

“Excuse me,” Scott said, “I need to go.” 

He was probably committing some huge breach of etiquette, but he got to his feet and hurried from the room, grabbing his phone from his pocket as he did so. He had Derek’s phone number up the second he was outside the room. 

“Scott? Are you in trouble?” 

“It was Kali’s gift. That’s the source of the spell, not the statue.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Pretty damn sure. Don’t touch those things again.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I’m going to make sure I’m right.” 

Scott hung up before Derek could point out how dangerous this was. Scott was in the heart of someone else’s territory now, but he couldn’t ignore this. He had to know for sure. 

He didn’t know which room was Kali’s, but it wasn’t too hard to find it. There were still plenty of servants here, even if there weren’t as many as in Derek’s compound. Scott found the first human and asked the way to Kali’s room. A few minutes later, he knocked on the door. 

The door was opened by a dark-haired woman but it wasn’t Kali. She was human, bare-footed and with a silver collar around her neck. So Kali had a slave. The slave bowed her head in a perfect picture of subservience, letting Scott enter. Kali was sitting in the only chair in the room and she made no move to leave it. She just stared at Scott with a cold look on her face. 

“What brings you here?” Kali asked. The slave closed the door and went over to Kali, kneeling down just in front of the chair in gentle submission. Scott saw there were leather cuffs around the slave’s wrists that looked identical to the ones that Kali had given Derek. 

“I wanted to ask you about your gifts to Derek,” Scott said. 

“What about them?” 

“Are they magical?” 

"Of course. Derek’s a werewolf and the stuff humans use is too breakable. Everything I gave him is infused with magic to make it stronger.” 

“It’s not just that though, is it?” 

Kali gave a smile that was all cruelty, a nasty look in her eyes. She reached out and ran a hand over her slave’s head, stroking her like a pet. The slave leaned into the touch slightly, but otherwise showed no sign of reaction. 

“Some humans are natural submissives,” Kali said. “Others need a little persuasion.” 

“Magical persuasion?” 

Kali’s smiled widened a little, showing teeth that were almost fangs. She leaned forward, her hand drifting down the side of the slave’s face to toy with the edge of the collar. 

“It’s a subtle spell,” she said. “While the slave wears the restraints, the magic gently pushes at their mind, makes them enjoy the feeling of being submissive, makes them crave obedience. The longer they wear the restraints, the deeper it goes until all they want to do is serve.” 

Scott felt physically sick. To deliberately use magic to play with a person’s mind like that, it was worse than rape. Kalie was talking about forcing herself not just on someone’s body but on their mind, on their soul, twisting them into subservience. 

“You don’t approve,” Kali said, as though she found this amusing. 

“No,” Scott said. 

“You think too much like a human. This is better. A rebellious slave is unhappy and they cause trouble for everyone. This way, they want to serve, it makes them happy. You’re happy, aren’t you, Julia?” 

The slave looked up and smiled. 

“Yes, mistress,” she said, in a voice soft and pleasant and utterly without a trace of feeling. 

Scott left. He ignored all politeness and protocol. He just hurried out of that sick woman’s room, almost running back to his own. He felt shaken and ill from being in the same room as her and he couldn’t stop himself thinking about how easily that could have been him. It could have been Stiles. 

He grabbed his phone the second the door was shut behind him. He called Derek. 

“Scott? What’s wrong?” 

“Those cuffs and things Kali gave you,” he said. “They are definitely magic, but you weren’t the target. I don’t think she ever expected a werewolf to put them on.” 

And he explained everything he’d just heard and seen. 

***

Stiles headed back to the suite after school, dumping his bag by the door. Derek was standing in the middle of the room, on the phone. He glanced across at Stiles. 

“OK,” Derek said. “Be careful.” 

There were few people that Derek would tell to be careful in that tone. 

“Was that Scott?” Stiles asked as he hung up. 

Derek put the phone down without answering. He hurried across the room and put his arms around Stiles in a tender embrace. He still wasn’t saying anything, just holding Stiles gently. It was rather disconcerting. 

“Derek, what’s wrong? Is something up with Scott?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“For what? Derek talk to me!” 

Derek led him by the hand over to the couch and sat him down. Then he explained everything Scott had found out. The change in Derek had been an unintended side-effect of the restraints being used on a werewolf. The real purpose was to twist Stiles into a perfect slave. Those cuffs, those chains, all those things they’d been using for fun, had been slowly worming the spell into his mind, changing him from the inside. 

“Well, we didn’t use them that much,” Stiles said, “so presumably the spell hasn’t had long to work and I guess it must wear off so if neither of us uses those things ever _ever_ again, we should be OK. Right?” 

He waited for Derek to answer, to reassure him, to tell him that everything was going to be OK. He wanted to hear those words because he couldn’t trust his own thoughts. Magic had been inside his head, meddling, but if Derek told him he’d be alright, he’d believe it. 

“I should have known something was wrong,” Derek said. “After the feast, when you decided to kneel, I was afraid that something had happened to you but I decided to ignore it. I followed my lust instead of my instincts.” 

Stiles thought back to that night, the night he’d spent bound and gagged while the werewolves feasted. He’d had a lot of time to think and he’d wondered what it would be like to be dominated by Derek, to kneel at his feet. He’d thought about it and he’d decided it would be fun to try it. How much of that was him exploring his own kinks and how much of that was the work of magic? He had no way to tell. 

He looked at Derek, saw the pain on his face, saw the guilt. Derek was turning in on himself, wrapping himself in layers of shame and shutting his heart away. 

“Derek,” Stiles said, “whatever magic might have been going on, you didn’t know about it, I didn’t know about it. You didn’t do a thing that I didn’t agree to and that I didn’t enjoy. You have nothing to feel guilty about.” 

“I took advantage.” 

“I offered! Maybe I wasn’t one hundred percent in my right mind, but I thought I was at the time and so did you. Let’s just say that we had a night we both enjoyed and let’s put any blame on Kali. She’s the only person here who’s done something wrong.” 

"I'm going to kill her." 

“No. No, you’re not. But we are going to tell the world.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“People need to know this. It’s bad enough that people are being enslaved, but brainwashed by magic? That can’t be allowed to continue. I should take Scott with me to Matilda and get him to go on record with everything he’s learned about Kali’s approach to body slaves.” 

“Even if we keep names out of it, Kali will know who told. She won’t be happy.” 

Stiles had thought of that. Right now, Scott was their voice on the Council of Alphas, the one vote they could be certain of. Would telling this story now only put Scott in danger and weaken their chance of getting the vote? 

“We time it right,” Stiles said. “After Scott is officially sworn in as one of the Council.” 

If Deucalion sponsored Scott to the Council, he couldn’t then change his mind about it without looking weak. He’d be forced to defend Scott’s position there. Kali wouldn’t be able to remove Scott from the Council and a physical challenge would look like she felt threatened by him. She could still go a more subtle route; they couldn’t forget that she had someone working for her who could wield magic. Still, it would lessen the risk. Stiles would talk this over with Scott at school. They’d work out a way to get the truth out there without getting killed over it. 

Derek put an arm around Stiles’ back and pulled him up against him. Stiles lay his head down on Derek’s shoulder. They sat there for a while in silence. Stiles wondered what Derek was thinking, if he was still swimming in guilt over having had sex with Stiles in bondage. There was guilt on both sides. Stiles kept thinking about how it had been his plan, his game, that had triggered Derek’s loss of control. If he hadn’t wanted to chain Derek up, that would never have happened. 

They sat there, wallowing in their respective sorrows. At last, Derek broke the silence. 

“I don’t want you as a slave,” Derek said quietly. “It doesn’t matter if you’d be quiet and obedient or sarcastic and rebellious. I don’t want you to be a slave.” 

“I know,” Stiles said. He reached out a hand across Derek’s body and sought for his free hand. Fingers twined together. 

“I’ll fight for us,” Derek went on. “Until we’re equals or we’re dead.” 

“Or we’re equally dead.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect any plot in this chapter. This is just equal parts sap and smut.

Friday came at last, not that Stiles was looking forward to this weekend. Derek had received an invitation to Scott’s inauguration in the Council of Alphas. It was expected to be a tedious time, filled with pretention and ceremony. Stiles would be accompanying him as his personal slave, which meant hours of perfect behaviour and pretence of subservience. The only thing that made Stiles feel better about the whole thing was that he might learn something from seeing how the other alphas treated their slaves. Maybe he could pick up some little insight that he could use to further their cause. 

Stiles returned to the compound after school and headed up to the suite, dropping his bag by the door as normal. Derek was waiting for him, standing in the middle of the room with unaccustomed nervousness. 

“Is everything OK?” Stiles asked. 

“Everything’s great,” Derek said. He gave a smile, but there was still a nervousness behind it, almost excitement. Clearly there wasn’t something wrong with Scott’s situation, so Stiles decided to play with him. 

“Good,” Stiles said. “I’ve got a bunch of homework to do.” 

“Oh. Of course. Schoolwork’s important. I should let you get on with that.” Derek’s disappointment was painful to watch and Stiles couldn’t hold himself back from laughter. 

“Come here,” Stiles said. He grabbed Derek into a kiss. 

When they came up for air, Stiles asked, “What are you planning?” 

“Are you sure you don’t need to do homework?” 

“Just tell me.” 

Derek took Stiles by the hand and led him into the big bedroom. Now he saw what Derek was so excited about. The new bed had arrived. It was made of shining metal, probably steel. The triskele symbol formed the centre of the design in both the head and foot boards, surrounded by curves and waves and Celtic knots made out of the twisted metal. Four posts rose to a high canopy, decorated with drapes in a near-transparent, white fabric. The whole thing looked like a work of art, but there would be plenty of places where restraints could be discretely attached, no doubt by design. Today though, the white sheets were decorated with rose petals. 

Stiles turned to Derek, “Alpha Hale, are you trying to seduce me?” 

“No. I’m trying to romance you.” 

Derek went to the dresser at the edge of the room. There was a wine cooler there with a bottle inside. Derek pulled the bottle out, pouring a sparkling liquid into a pair of champagne flutes. According to the label, it was sparkling grape juice, not wine. Stiles could only imagine the rumours that must be flying right now, since it would be obvious that Derek meant to share this with his underage slave. 

He must have organised all this himself, asking for roses and juice and even a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries. No doubt the entire compound was now talking about this shift in the alpha’s mood, about how he could offer his slave flowers or bruises with equal ease. It must look very strange from the outside. 

Stiles felt privileged that he got to see behind the mask to the man beneath. This Derek, sentimental to the point of sweetness, was more real than the fierce alpha ever could be. 

Derek handed him the glass and Stiles sipped. Then Derek picked up one of the strawberries, holding it out. Stiles ate from his fingers, biting into the strawberry and then licking a dribble of juice from Derek’s skin. He licked his lips deliberately and Derek lent in for the kiss, strawberry and chocolate mingling with their own passion. 

Derek seemed to have this all planned out, so Stiles let him lead. They sat for a while on the edge of the new bed, feeding each other strawberries with fingers and kisses. They were taking things slowly, taking this time just for each other. 

When the strawberries were gone, Derek lifted his shirt over his head in a slow, smooth gesture. Stiles leaned forward and decorated that muscled chest with soft kisses and gentle touches. Derek reached for the back of Stiles’ shirt, lifting it slowly, fingers brushing against his back, running feather-light over the ridges of his spine. Stiles stopped his kissing at the last possible moment and then raised his arms so that Derek could lift the shirt free and let it drop in a puddle of cloth beside the bed. 

They explored each other with hands and mouths, with slowness that was almost agony. It was Stiles who decided he’d had enough, standing from the bed and reaching for his flies. Derek reached out and let his hands rest on Stiles’, stilling them for a moment, while he was still half-dressed. 

“I want to do something different today,” Derek said. 

“Like what?” 

“I want you inside me.” 

“Insi… oh!” The word turned in a breath of realisation that was almost a moan of pleasure. They’d not discussed this, this level of intimacy, and Stiles was suddenly nervous. 

“Do you want to?” Derek asked, suddenly seeming worried. 

“Hell yes!” 

It was so utterly unromantic a statement, but Derek laughed. Stiles laughed too, and quickly their pants joined their shirts on the floor. Derek found a tube of lube that had been discretely tucked behind the wine cooler. It was a harsh piece of reality that intruded into the romance of the scene, nearly making Stiles laugh again. 

They lay among the rose petals, kissing, touching. They faced each other for a few minutes, hands running over skin, but both of them were already hard, both wanting what was coming. Soon, Derek rolled onto his front, an open invitation. 

“I don’t really know what I’m doing here,” Stiles said. It wasn’t entirely true. The internet could be a wonderful teaching resource, but he’d never done anything like this with someone. 

“You’ll need to prepare me. Stretch me. Don’t worry, I’m clean.” 

Stiles wasn’t sure if he meant free from disease or clean in a more physical sense. Either way, he assumed Derek knew what he was doing. Stiles ran his hand over Derek’s ass, all pale skin and tight muscle. 

“Use a finger,” Derek said. “Stretch me open.” 

Stiles took the tube of lube, squeezing out a dollop onto his hand. He ease a finger into Derek’s waiting hole, discovering that the way was already slightly smoothed. Derek must have been doing some preparation on his own. It made Stiles smile to think of Derek getting himself ready for this encounter, preparing his body with as much care as he’d prepared the rose petals. 

Stiles slid his finger in fully, moving it in and out slowly. 

“Is that good?” Stiles asked. 

“More,” Derek grunted. 

“More?” 

“Another finger.” 

Acting on Derek’s instructions, Stiles slid another finger inside. He moved them in and out, scissored them, worked to slowly stretch the hole in readiness for the rest of him. 

His fingers brushed against something inside and Derek moaned into the pillow. 

“Are you alright?” Stiles asked. 

Derek made an incomprehensible noise that was almost animal in quality. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Stiles said, and found the point again. 

Derek lifted his head from the pillow and twisted round to look at Stiles. 

“I need you now,” he growled. 

Stiles slipped his fingers free. Derek grabbed one of the pillows, lifting his hips up to slide the pillow under it for a better angle. His ass was thrust up in the air, an open invitation. Stiles nearly came just from that sight. 

Stiles knelt astride Derek’s legs, lined himself up, and then slid inside in one slow stroke. This had been worth waiting for. He thrust inside Derek’s tight hole, Derek rocking his hips in a steady rhythm beneath him. They moved together, bodies joined as one. Sweat beaded on Derek’s back as they worked, little dots decorating the triskele tattoo. 

Stiles leaned forward, lying over Derek, skin to skin as he increased the tempo. 

It didn’t last very long, for either of them. 

Stiles pulled himself out and collapsed onto the bed covers beside Derek, lying amid semen and rose petals. 

He started laughing. 

“What is it?” Derek asked. 

“We made a mess of your nice new bed,” he answered, though he couldn’t have explained why that suddenly seemed funny. 

Derek reached over, picking free a rose petal that had gotten stuck to Stiles’ arm. 

“Our new bed,” Derek corrected. 

“I love you.” 

Derek leaned forward and kissed the tip of Stiles’ nose, grinning. 

“Love you too.”


	42. Chapter 42

Stiles was not looking forward to this day. He knew it was important and exciting and a massive victory for them, but it meant a day of kneeling at Derek’s feet, keeping his mouth shut and pretending to be a well-behaved slave. He was wearing the metal collar, which they knew hadn’t the tiniest trace of magic on it. Kali’s gifts had been shut away until they could figure out a way to safely destroy them. 

Stiles wondered what Kali would think when she saw that Derek wasn’t using her gifts. He hoped that they were never in a position where she asked, because he wasn’t sure Derek would restrain himself. Attacking her would be a bad move any day. Attacking her at a gathering of the Council of Alphas would be suicide. 

Stiles sat in the passenger seat of the Camaro while Derek drove. Neither of them said much. They’d talked about this day and the expectations and now all they could do was get through it. Thankfully, no one’s attention would be on either of them. It was Scott who’d have to be in the limelight today. 

Derek arrived and parked among a sea of cars. There were half a dozen limos in the parking lot, the drivers standing off to one side for a smoke and a chat. Other werewolves, like Derek, drove themselves. Derek couldn’t say anything to Stiles from this point on without risking another werewolf overhearing. So he reached out silently, took Stiles’ hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Stiles squeezed back. 

Then they climbed from the car. Stiles walked a step behind Derek, hands clasped in front of him, head discretely lowered. He kept his eyes fixed on the small of Derek’s back, watching him to know when to turn, when to stand still. He could hear people all around him, catching glimpses of their legs out of the corner of his eye. It was a fight not to look around and satisfy his curiosity. 

Derek was greeted by one of the other alphas. They stood and exchanged meaningless small talk. Stiles stood beside and a little behind Derek, staring down. The other alpha had very shiny shoes. They looked like they’d been varnished or something. They’d obviously never seen a speck of mud. Beside the ridiculously shiny shoes of the alpha, there was a pair of bare feet. Stiles guessed the slave was female, judging from the size and the pink nail polish, but he didn’t look up to check. 

“I hear the new alpha was one of your slaves,” the other alpha said. 

“That’s correct,” Derek said. “I made him part of my pack but it seems he has the potential to be a true alpha.” 

“I always thought the true alpha thing was a myth.” 

“Apparently not. His eyes are now red and I know he never killed an alpha for that power.” 

“How unusual.” 

“I’m just thrilled that this could have come out of my pack.” 

There were already rumours about Scott having become an alpha given that no other alpha seemed to have been challenged. The decision was for Derek to fuel those rumours. They wouldn’t explain the details of Scott’s change, but he would confirm it. He was also using the opportunity to emphasize the connection between Scott and the Hale pack. Scott might be a true alpha but he was still, in the eyes of many traditionalist werewolves, one of Derek’s betas. 

Derek left that alpha and meandered through the gathered crowd. Stiles stuck close by his side, his silent shadow. Derek paused to talk to a few more acquaintances. From the politeness of their exchanges, Stiles couldn’t tell if they were casual associates or mortal enemies. Quite possibly they were both. 

As they moved through the crowd, Stiles keeping his head politely bowed, Derek was greeted by a familiar voice. 

“Hi, Derek,” Scott said. He gave no indication that he’d even noticed Stiles. 

“Hi, Scott,” Derek said. “I assume that if you’re out here mingling, then everything is prepared.” There was a microscopic pause. “For the inauguration ceremony.” 

“Oh yes, everything’s ready. Thank you for everything you’ve done to get me here today.” 

“No problem.” 

They were in a room full of werewolves, with all the enhanced hearing that implied. Half the room was probably listening to this casual chat. Scott thanking Derek and Derek’s implication that they were preparing for something added up to something significant. They’d basically just declared their allegiance to each other. 

“Well I should get back inside,” Scott said. “Big day.” 

“Big day,” Derek agreed. 

Stiles said nothing. No one said anything to him. He couldn’t even say hello to his best friend. He felt like he’d go nuts from the silence, so he started a silent recitation inside his head. He had to endure this. He had to pretend. Because this was the way they could change things, not just for him. Every slave here would be burning in the same silence. He could only free them if he played along. 

“Derek,” another voice greeted them. Stiles knew that voice. He froze and hoped she wasn’t listening to his heart racing. 

“Kali,” Derek said, somehow making the name sound like a death threat. Stiles stared at the floor in front of him, at Kali’s bare feet, claws tapping gently against the floor. Beside her were the bare feet of her slave, leather cuffs round each ankle. They looked exactly like the cuffs Kali had given Derek in her gift set. Stiles wanted to look up, to see the face of this woman and see if there was anything left in her eyes once the magic had worked its way into her head. 

That could so easily have been him. 

“I see you’re not using my gift,” Kali said. 

Stiles was actually surprised that Derek wasn’t attempting to rip out her throat with his claws. He just stood there, polite and restrained. 

“No. I prefer to trust my own methods of discipline rather than magic and I would have appreciated knowing that your gift was enchanted before I used it on my slave.” 

“Surely you’re not angry. Isn’t he prettier when he’s less rebellious?” 

She reached out a hand to caress Stiles’ cheek. He flinched away, taking a step back by instinct. Derek moved forward, putting himself between them, an angry roar on his lips. 

“Don’t touch him,” Derek snarled. 

It looked like there might be a challenge right here. Stiles, even with his eyes down, was aware of the stillness around them, of so many werewolves turning to look. He wanted to say something, to calm Derek down, to stop him from getting himself killed. If Derek died here, it would be the end for both of them and the end of everything they were fighting for. But there was nothing Stiles could say or do without making things worse. All he could do was stand there, a helpless human in a room full of predators. 

Kali laughed, “You really don’t like sharing, do you, Derek?” 

“He’s mine.” 

Kali turned and walked away, her perfectly behaved slave following a precise step behind. 

Derek took hold of Stiles firmly by the arm and led him across the crowded room. They passed through a door and into an auditorium beyond. A semi-circle of chairs were arranged on a stage around a central throne. On the other side of the room, tiers of seats rose up to give the attendees a view of the stage. The whole room was empty for now and Derek led Stiles up a set of stairs until he found his seat in the audience, up near the back. 

Only then did Derek turn to look at Stiles. Only then did Stiles look up and meet his eyes. There were no words; there was still a chance that someone might overhear from the next room. Instead, Derek just placed a chaste kiss on Stiles’ lips, just a small reminder that they were in this together. It was enough. 

The seats were well spaced. There was plenty of room for Stiles to kneel just in front and to the right of Derek’s chair. He folded his hands in his lap and reminded himself for the hundredth time not to fidget. 

Derek was the first to enter the auditorium, but others soon followed his example. Werewolves came in, finding their places in the audience. The seats weren’t labelled. Presumably everyone studied the seating plan prior to the meeting to ensure they got it right. A werewolf accidentally sitting in the seat of someone who outranked them was probably a lethal insult. 

Stiles had to be discrete about it, but at least his current position let him see over the seat in front of him. He could watch the werewolves entering the room. Perhaps one in ten had a slave with them, mostly heading to seats near the front. All of the slaves walked barefoot. One or two wore nothing at all except for collars round their necks. If they were ashamed by their nakedness, they didn’t show it. They walked as though they felt nothing at all. Stiles thought he was the youngest in the room, then a man walked in with a pair of identical little girls. They must have been twins, no older than ten or eleven. Stiles kept his head forward, but he watched out of the corner of his eye as the man walked to his seat near the front row. He would remember the seat location so he could look the man up on the seating chart later. That was a story that needed to be made public. 

There was a buzz of chatter around the room. The werewolf to Derek’s right asked him about his journey getting here. Derek gave a polite reply and then echoed the question. It was all so ridiculously ordinary. 

A hush fell when the door opened again and Deucalion led the way in, his cane tapping against the floor and his hand on Kali’s arm. The rest of the Council of Alphas followed. Stiles tried to remember their names, but it was difficult to be sure because werewolves didn’t tend to photograph well, so he was generally going by descriptions. They each took their places in the semi-circle of the stage, walking slowly and deliberately, waiting for Deucalion to sit before sitting themselves. When they were done, there was only one empty seat left in the whole room, the last chair in the semi-circle on the stage. 

Stiles wanted to move, wanted to fidget, wanted to do something other than just kneeling in silence. The quiet of the room was like an itch that needed to be scratched. But all he could do was sit there and seethe in silent hatred, watching Kali sitting there like a queen, with the bound and enchanted Julia kneeling at her feet. 

“We are here today,” Deucalion said, “to welcome one who has gained the rank of alpha through no challenges, but through his own strength of will. We invite him now to join us as an equal, an alpha among alphas.” 

Stiles could have snorted when Deucalion said, “equal.” None of this was about equality. Even the damn seating chart was proof that there was no equality even between werewolves, let alone the humans they treated as slaves. 

“Welcome, Scott McCall,” Deucalion said. 

The door opened again. Scott walked in slowly. Each step was a precise length. He didn’t look up at the audience staring down at him, just went to stand in front of the stage. He bowed to Deucalion. Deucalion returned the bow. 

How had he done that? Was werewolf hearing so good that he could tell when Scott bowed? Or had he just heard Scott stop walking and assumed he’d bowed, so he would have returned it even if Scott had done nothing? 

Deucalion continued the ceremony, “You have come here today because you wish to claim a place in the Council of Alphas.” 

“I do.” 

"Being an alpha is about more than power. It is about being a leader. Do you swear to act as a leader through times of peace and times of trouble?” 

“I do.” 

“Do you swear to uphold the laws that govern werewolves and humans alike?” 

“I do.” 

“Do you swear to fight to protect your pack and the greater pack of all werewolves?” 

“I do.” 

“Do you swear to do your duty for the good of the greater whole?” 

“I do.” 

“Then join us, Scott McCall, alpha.” 

When this was over, Stiles would have to tease Scott about this, make some joke about the difficulty he must have had learning his lines. 

Scott walked up the steps onto the stage. He bowed again to Deucalion then spun about and bowed once to the gathered audience. There was a ripple of movement and the assembled alphas bowed their heads. Then Scott walked over to the empty chair and sat down. 

Stiles let out a breath. 

This was a victory. The greater battle was still ahead of them, but they’d achieved something great today. Scott was up there on that stage, a leader of werewolves, in a position to do all the good Derek couldn’t. 

“Does anyone have business to bring before the Council?” Deucalion asked. One of the werewolves stood. 

Stiles clenched his hands in front of him from the effort of keeping still. This was going to be a long day.


	43. Chapter 43

Scott came back to school like nothing had changed, but it was obvious from the first moment that everything had. Whispers followed him through the halls. Eyes turned to watch him as he passed. People stepped aside. They spoke politely. Even the teachers treated him differently. Harris said no rude words. Coach didn’t yell at him. The teachers were as scared as everyone else. 

Stiles knew his best friend well enough to see how mad this was all making him. Scott seemed to get angrier with every pleasant remark. It was because of the difference. People were treating Scott like he was special because he was not just a werewolf but an alpha. Before he’d just been Scott McCall and he hadn’t been worth the time of day. Being a werewolf was more important than being Scott had ever been, and that hurt, because it implied the only thing of worth about him was in the colour of his eyes. 

Stiles made up his mind to take Scott to Matilda as soon as they got out of school. He’d planned to wait a few days, but he needed Scott with this burning anger still fresh. 

When they arrived, Stiles introduced him and Matilda’s eyes went wide in recognition and fear. 

“He’s a werewolf,” she said. 

“I was born human,” Scott answered. “I was a slave at the Hale compound with Stiles.” 

“He’s on our side,” Stiles insisted. 

Matilda invited them inside, but he looked terrified still of Scott. Stiles noticed that there was no offer of tea this time. 

“I’ve heard things,” Scott said, “since I became a werewolf, since they decided I was one of them. I want to tell the stories. I want the world to know.” 

Matilda fetched a little recording device, a digital version of the old tape recorders reporters used to use. She set it down on the kitchen table in front of Scott and he explained what Kali had told him, about using magic to bend the will of her slave. He didn’t use Kali’s name. At the end, he turned off the device and looked at Matilda. 

“Don’t put my name on this,” Scott said. “And don’t release it straight away.” 

“But people need to know.” 

“That’s why we’re here,” Stiles said, “but we’ve got to time this right. Scott may be a werewolf now, but he’s not safe. When this story goes out there, the person he’s talking about will know exactly who told it. She could kill him. So we’ve got to make it so that her killing him would make it look like she felt threatened, make it look like she felt weak. She won’t want to look weak.” 

“You’ve planned all this out?” Matilda asked. 

“Every last detail.” 

***

Saturday rolled around. The first Saturday of the month. It felt like a lifetime ago that Stiles had gone down to sit at Derek’s side and his dad had come here, begging for his freedom. Stiles once again walked beside Derek, a collar around his neck. He sat down on the cushion beside Derek’s chair and watched the reporters in their corners. 

Today it would begin. All around the country, people would be going to the werewolf packs and asking for an audience, going in with the questions Stiles had given to Matilda. She would be ready, along with the others she’d contacted through her site, taking the answers as soon as they came and pushing them out across the internet. Blogs, articles, twitter posts, tumblr gifs, Facebook statuses, anything and everything. They would make a digital outcry, pushing the werewolves’ words out to the masses. 

Where it went after that, they could guide, but not control. 

The day started with tedious trivia. The most interesting petitioner was a property developer who wanted to build on a patch of land that bordered the Hale territory. Derek had a long conversation discussing the man’s plans and the processes by which he could run any changes past Derek before any building took place. 

As they talked, one of the reporters received a message. She looked at her phone, whispered to her colleague and slipped out of the room. Stiles noticed that Derek cast a glance in her direction as well. It must be starting. 

They’d told Matilda to leave the Hale packed out of the first round, but they’d known this was a possibility. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the reporter returned in the role of the next petitioner. 

“What do you have to ask?” Derek asked. 

“Alpha Hale, I would like to know your thoughts on the enslavement of humans by werewolf packs.” 

They’d anticipated the question and Derek gave the answer they’d devised. It wasn’t too hypocritical, given that Derek kept Stiles as a slave, but it could easily be quoted as a stance against slavery. 

“There are some werewolves who take advantage of the laws,” he said. “There are werewolves who enjoy the opportunities to cause pain to human slaves.” 

“Do you think the laws are fair?” 

Stiles had to admire her guts, being so blunt about it. Matilda would never have dared stand before an alpha werewolf and ask the question with such audacity. 

“Laws can change as society changes,” Derek said, “and as the need for them changes. Perhaps the time is right for the slavery laws to be analysed to see if there’s room for change.” 

“Do you think the law should change?” 

“How can I answer that when I don’t know what the change would be? Unfortunately, I am not on the Council of Alphas, so I am not in a position to propose the changes I would want to see.” 

“So you do think the laws should change?” 

“I think there is much room for improvement, both in the letter of the law and in how it is interpreted.” 

This was going well. Derek was giving brief statements that could easily be turned into soundbites, but he wasn’t over-doing it. Stiles was starting to feel pleased with their efforts. Then the reporter turned to Stiles. 

“What do you think about the slavery laws?” she asked. 

Stiles blinked. They hadn’t planned for this. 

He briefly considered giving a joking answer, maybe saying something about how if he stopped being Derek’s slave, he’d have to wait until he turned eighteen to have sex again, which would suck. But now was not the time for inappropriate jokes. 

“I don’t think anyone should be a slave,” Stiles said. 

The camera flashes were blinding. For almost a minute, the only sounds were the click-click-clicking as reporters took photos of Stiles sitting beside an alpha’s chair, saying that no one should be a slave. 

When Derek stood, everyone in the room took a step back. Derek took hold of Stiles’ arm and pulled him to his feet. His fingers remained against Stiles’ skin, not painful but not yielding either. 

“We’re done for today,” Derek announced. His face was a dark mask of anger. He turned and walked from the room. Stiles had no choice but to follow after him or lose his arm. He hurried along as Derek strode along the halls and upstairs to the suite. Neither of them said another word until they were inside, the door firmly closed behind them. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I didn’t think anyone would ask me. I didn’t plan for that. I didn’t have anything clever worked out, so I just said it. I know you’re probably mad because I made you look weak, made you look like you have a rebellious slave, but I had to answer and I had to say something. I’m sorry if I’ve screwed up your image but I didn’t know what else to-“ 

Derek pressed his mouth against Stiles’ and he finally stopped talking. 

“I’m not angry,” Derek said, breaking the kiss. 

“Oh. Are you sure? ‘Cause you kinda look angry.” 

"Stiles, do you trust me?" 

“Yes.” Stiles wished his voice sounded a little less hesitant, but he said the word. Derek nodded and went to the suite’s phone, speaking to some member of staff somewhere in the compound. He still sounded angry. 

“I need some items brought to my suite at once,” Derek ordered. “Two small kitchen knives, six metal barbeque skewers, a dozen clothes pegs, some fresh ginger, a lemon and a string of fairy lights. Bring them now.” 

He hung up the phone. Stiles swallowed nervously. 

“What are you going to do with all of that?” Stiles asked. 

“Start a few rumours. Take your shirt off.” 

“Why?” 

“So whoever brings the stuff will see the claw marks on your back.” 

Stiles did as he was told. Then Derek fussed about positioning him so that he’d be clearly visible to whoever came in. He had Stiles kneel on the carpet by the dining table, bending forward over his arms so that his face nearly touched the floor. It was a position that would get uncomfortable very quickly, but it would make Stiles’ injuries extremely noticeable. 

“Think you can keep quiet for a couple of minutes?” Derek asked, a teasing note in his tone. 

“It will test my resolve,” Stiles answered, turning his head to offer a grin. 

“And try to look scared.” 

“That won’t be too difficult. You’re freaking me out somewhat with your weird requests.” 

“Shush.” 

A minute later, there came a knock on the suite door. Derek barked an order to come in, sounding as gruff and grumpy as he ever did. Stiles stayed in his kneeling position, staring at the carpet. 

“The items you requested, sir,” said a man’s voice. 

“Put them on the table and get out.” 

The man was in the room for a maximum of ten seconds. When the door shut, Stiles got to his feet. Derek was standing next to the dining table, picking up a sharp kitchen knife. Derek pressed the knife against his forearm. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Stiles demanded, grabbing Derek’s wrist before he could start slicing his arm open. 

“It’ll heal,” Derek said. 

Stiles realised then that Derek wasn’t doing this to hurt himself, but to get blood on the knife, to make it look like he’d been hurting Stiles. That was what he’d meant about rumours. He wanted the people in the compound to be talking about how Stiles was brutally tortured for daring to speak out against slavery. 

“Wait right here,” Stiles said. “And don’t do anything. I mean it. Just wait.” 

He hurried into the little bedroom. It no longer felt like his room but most of his stuff was still in here. He found his phone and returned to the main room, loading up the camera and starting it filming. 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked. 

“Filming you. What are you doing?” 

“Stiles, put the phone away.” 

“No. When this is over, people will need to know the part you played in all this. They’ll need to see what you were really doing, not what you made people think you were doing.” 

“You’re planning on showing people this video?” 

“When we’ve won. When slavery is abolished once and for all, I’ll use this to convince people that you were on the right side, that you were the mastermind behind the campaign.” 

Derek shot him a withering look that had the unfortunate effect of making the phone’s lens flare around his eyes. 

“We both know you’re the mastermind,” Derek said. 

“OK, well you’re my glamorous assistant then.” 

“Stiles,” Derek said slowly, his voice a low warning. Stiles laughed. 

“Tell the future viewers what you’re doing,” Stiles said. 

“I’m making it look like I’m torturing you.” Derek picked up the knife again and pressed the blade to his arm. He sliced through the skin and the blood welled up. Derek pressed the blade flat so that both sides were coated in blood. Then he picked up the barbeque skewers, just narrow sticks of metal, and he ran those over the wound so that those had a generous coating of blood as well. He dropped one deliberately, picking it up a moment later, but not before a thin line of red stained the carpet. 

“Why do you want people to think you’re torturing me?” Stiles asked. 

“Because it will make people angry. You spoke up against slavery. If people think you’re being tortured for it, they’ll be angry. We need people to be furious if we’re to convince the other werewolves to change the law.” 

Derek set down the bloody knife and picked up the clean one. He picked up the piece of ginger. 

“What are you going to do with that?” Stiles asked. 

“I’m going to carve it into a butt plug.” 

For a moment, Stiles didn’t know how to reply, so he simply asked, “Why?” 

“It’s an irritant. With a piece of fresh ginger inside you, it would feel like you were burning inside, without it causing any physical damage.” 

“And the lemon?” 

“Lemon juice in an open wound is excruciatingly painful.” 

"The clothes pegs?" 

“Imagine them attached to certain parts of your anatomy.” 

Stiles winced at the mental picture. 

“So what on earth are the fairy lights for?” Stiles asked. 

“The fairy lights are so people ask each other how I could possibly be using fairy lights to torture you. If there’s a mystery, they’re more likely to talk, so the story will spread further.” 

“You are a devious bastard.” 

Derek looked up from his ginger-carving and grinned, “I know. Now put the phone down before I take it from you and smash it to fragments.”

“You’re supposed to be convincing people that you’re not a violent monster. This isn’t helping.” 

“OK, let me put it another way. We’re not going to have sex until you stop filming.” 

Stiles stopped filming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the idea for the fake-torture-rumours thing from the start of this story. I'd originally intended for the sheriff to have heard horrendous stories about what his son was going through, only to witness Derek putting on this sort of charade. The timing of it just didn't seem to fit in the plot though. I'm glad I found a way to get it back in.


	44. Chapter 44

The rumour had spread through the entire compound by the end of the day. Stiles went down to the kitchen to get some food while Derek dozed in the big bed. Stiles could have called up for food, but he didn’t want to disturb Derek and he was more than a little curious how people would react to him after the supposed punishment. Stiles made a point of wearing a loose, long-sleeved shirt, hiding his non-existent injuries. He walked slowly, as though he had to be careful of every step. 

When he walked into the kitchen, the usual hubbub fell to instant silence. For a few seconds, everyone just stared at him. Then, just as quickly, they all returned to their jobs. Mrs Dales herself came over to Stiles. 

“For you or the alpha?” she asked. 

“Both.” 

She nodded, her face grim, and hurried off to find the food and order her minions to provide what was required, filling up a catering trolley with a fine selection. Stiles stood off to one side, trying to stay out of the way. Everyone kept sending glances in his direction. While he waited, Mrs Dales came back to Stiles and pressed a couple of small, white pills into his hand. 

“Pain killers,” she said. “The good ones.” 

Stiles just stared at her. She must have believed the stories for her to offer him the pain killers, but if she believed, then this was a huge risk. She was deliberately going against the alpha’s wishes in trying to lessen his punishment. 

“I thought you hated me,” Stiles said. 

“I have to think about my own staff,” she said. “Getting close to an alpha’s slave can be dangerous.” 

Stiles thought about Kelly, and about the way Mrs Dales had warned her away from him, with remarks about a werewolf’s jealousy. He understood. Mrs Dales had been trying to keep Stiles and Kelly separate, knowing about Kelly’s crush and worried about what might happen if Derek found out. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said. He went to the sink and poured himself a little water, pretending to use it to swallow the pain killers, while in fact palming the pills into his pocket. 

By then, the trolley was ready. Mrs Dales ordered one of her minions to take it up to the suite. The stories must really be horrifying if she thought he was incapable of pushing a trolley. 

Back in the suite, one of the cleaning staff was kneeling on the floor next to the table, scrubbing at the bloodstains on the carpet. She gave Stiles a look filled with pity, but she said nothing. When Stiles started to help unload the trolley, the kitchen guy looked at the blood mark and said he’d got it. 

A minute later, Derek emerged from the bedroom, dressed only in a pair of tight jeans, hair still mussed up. Stiles made a point of dropping to his knees, bowing his head and taking his model-slave pose. 

“Get out,” Derek ordered at the cleaner. She stood with a bow, gathering up her supplies and leaving in such a hurry that she splashed soapy water on the carpet. The kitchen guy followed moments later, wheeling away the empty trolley. 

Stiles stayed on his knees, but looked up and grinned. 

“You going to make yourself useful while you’re down there?” Derek asked. 

“I might spoil my appetite,” Stiles said. 

“I’m sure we can find a way to work it up again.” 

“You are talking about my appetite, right?” Stiles grinned. 

***

By the following day, the stories had reached the sheriff. Stiles got a phone call on Sunday morning from his dad, asking if Stiles needed help. Those weren’t quite the words he used though. 

“Do I need to hunt that furry bastard down and put a wolfsbane bullet through his testicles?” he asked. 

“I like his testicles in one piece, thanks,” Stiles said, before his brain had fully woken up. Derek was lying on the couch with a book, listening to the conversation while he pretended to read. He couldn’t help the snort of laughter at Stiles’ comment, so Stiles didn’t believe for a moment that Derek was paying attention to his book. 

“I’ve been hearing rumours,” Stiles’ dad said. 

"How bad are they?" 

“Blood, torture, sexual depravities, and some stuff about Christmas lights that seriously disturbed me.” 

"What are people saying about the lights?" Stiles was genuinely curious what kind of theories people might think up. 

“Some things that will give me nightmares for the rest of my life. What has he been doing to you?” 

“Dad, you really don’t want me to answer that question. But he’s not been hurting me.” 

“Tell him that if he does, I’ll castrate him with a blunt knife.” 

“No you won’t. I’m quite attached to those parts of him and I’d prefer he stays that way too.” 

Derek made another amused noise. On the other end of the phone, his dad made a wordless exclamation of protest at Stiles’ statement. Clearly his dad felt more uncomfortable talking about sex with him than Stiles did. 

“I’m going to hang up now,” his dad said, “before I need to wash my brain with bleach. You be careful.” 

“Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

***

By Monday, there were protests. Stiles first found out about it when Cora was driving the pack to school in Derek’s Camaro. They pulled out of the compound and then Cora had to hit the breaks to avoid hitting a guy with a cardboard sign who stood in the middle of the road. There were a few others who were rather more sensibly by the side of the road. Their banners were all boring, with simple statements like, “End slavery now.” Stiles was embarrassed on behalf of the protestors that they couldn’t come up with something more original. 

Cora manoeuvred the car around the protester, which was difficult because he deliberately tried to stay in front of her, holding his sign up to block half the windscreen. Erica rolled down her window and yelled out, “You idiot! Are you trying to get run over?” 

The open window let in a cry of, “Free the slaves!” 

Then Cora got the car past and drove off, leaving the yells and signs behind. 

“I’m surprised Derek doesn’t send security down to clear them out,” Erica said. 

“We want the protests,” Stiles said. He was actually composing a text to Derek, suggesting that he order anonymous deliveries of coffee and pizza to the protesters. It might encourage them to stay longer or get others to join them. He wondered if there were any stationery stores that did deliveries. He could get them to send over some more card and coloured pens, along with a message to be more creative with their signs. 

***

When they reached the school, they found Scott being harassed by a group of reporters. They surrounded him on all sides, with cameras and microphones thrust in his face. Scott tried to move away, but they held him in a tight circle and he couldn’t get out without shoving them aside. 

“I was a slave before I was an alpha,” Scott was saying, “so I have very strong opinions on the subject, but this is neither the time nor the place to discuss it.” 

“Mr McCall, what do you think of the anti-slavery protests?” 

“I think you’re going to make me later for school.” 

Scott tried to push through the ring of reporters again. As he did so, one of them noticed the cluster of werewolves approaching, with Stiles in their midst. The cameras spun around and Stiles found himself blinded by repeated flashes. Questions bombarded them. 

“Mr Stilinski, is it true you were punished for saying that slavery shouldn’t be allowed?” 

“Miss Hale, do you think your brother should keep slaves?” 

“What do you think of the protests against slavery?” 

“What’s your opinion?” 

“Will Alpha Hale back-track on his policy of keeping underage boys as slaves?” 

The Hale pack, Stiles included, tried to give polite, “No comments,” but the questions kept coming. Cora, Isaac and Erica positioned themselves around Stiles, shielding him from the more aggressive reporters. It could have looked like they wanted to stop him talking to the press. They tried to push forwards towards the school entrance. 

“Oi! Vultures!” Coach Finstock was there, grabbing a couple of cameramen and yanking them aside to create a narrow path through the ring of people. 

“This is a school not a circus,” Coach yelled. “If you keep taking pictures of underage kids I’ll put in a call to the sheriff and explain how you’re all a bunch of perverted assholes who deserve to be locked in a small cell where you’re forced to fondle each other’s over-inflated egos for entertainment.” 

He herded them into the school and the door closed behind them. The reporters wisely stayed outside, much to Stiles’ relief.

“Coach, I could kiss you,” Stiles said. 

“Stilinski, take any such urges, lock them in a lead box, throw them into a deep well and pour concrete over the top.” 

“You got it, Coach.” 

***

At lunchtime, Stiles was in the cafeteria with Scott, watching the news on his phone. They were reporting on the protest outside the Hale compound. Apparently similar protests at other compounds had been discouraged by the local werewolves. From the careful tone of voice, Stiles guessed that the discouragement had involved threats of violence. The protest at the Hale compound was going strong though, with about thirty people gathered around the entrance. Even as Stiles watched, a pizza guy came into the back of the shot and the reporter talked about how people unable to participate in person had been showing their support all morning by sending food and supplies to the protesters. 

“Is that about the protest?” Allison asked, slipping into a seat at their table. “I was thinking of joining in after school.” 

"Come up with a more interesting banner,” Stiles said. 

“You’re not going to get in trouble over this?” she asked, appearing to be genuinely concerned. 

Scott started laughing. Allison looked a little hurt. 

“I just think that if Alpha Hale gets angry, he might take it out on Stiles. I want to make sure I’m not helping with that.” 

Scott gave Stiles a serious look. Stiles could recognise the question on his face. Scott wanted to tell Allison what was really going on. 

"No," said Stiles. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Scott said. 

“You were thinking it loudly.” 

“What?” asked Allison, looking between the two of them in confusion. 

Stiles gave Scott a glare that non-verbally explained how serious he was about this. Allison seemed nice enough, but her family were hunters. Stiles wasn’t going to trust her with anything this important since it was possible her parents might find out. 

“You’re planning something, aren’t you?” Allison said. “When we met with Alpha Hale, he said something about us interfering with his plans.” 

Scott was practically beaming at Allison, no doubt composing sonnets about her intelligence inside his head. Stiles just sighed. She already knew this much. He still didn’t want to admit the truth, to her or anyone, when so much was still up in the air, but he could give her something. 

“Derek’s not a bad guy,” he said. 

***

When they got back to the compound after school, the crowd had grown. Security had erected barriers along the edge of the road to keep the gate clear, but beyond the barriers there were dozens of people. When the car approached, the protesters leaned across the barriers, waving their banners. 

Someone hurled a soda can at the car. It bounced off the side. 

“Derek will be mad if that’s scratched the paintwork,” Cora commented, otherwise unconcerned by the angry crowd around them. 

She pulled through the gate and parked the car. The whole pack went up to Derek’s suite. He met them there, smiling coldly, but somehow managing to still look worried. 

“This is working faster than we could have hoped,” Derek said. “Every major news outlet has reported on the protests. The HER website posted Scott’s report on Kali at midday and now it’s everywhere and people are furious.” 

“So now we just have to wait for a reaction from the other werewolves,” Stiles said. 

“We don’t have to wait,” Derek said. “Deucalion has invited me to attend a meeting with the Council of Alphas.” The smile faded completely as he met Stiles’ gaze, “His invitation says to bring you with me.”


	45. Chapter 45

Stiles sat at the dining table in the suite, Derek’s laptop open in front of him. He was looking through every report he could find on how the alphas had reacted to the protests. He wanted to figure out who on the Council of Alphas were definitely going to be against them and who would only be probably against them. All of the Council had been approached and asked for their opinion on slavery. 

Kali gave quite a long speech about how humans knew the penalty for trespassing in werewolf territories. She claimed that there were humans who craved submission, who deliberately trespassed so that they would be in a position to serve. There was footage of her claiming that most slaves were happy with their situation. Stiles watched a video of her stroking the head of her blanked-eyed Julia and asking her to tell the viewers that she was happy. 

Most of the other alphas gave vague statements that appeared to imply that they had no opinions whatsoever. Deucalion said something about needing to ensure that slaves weren’t being taken advantage of, but that the system provided suitable punishment for those who invaded werewolf territories. He claimed that the laws were for human protection, since there was a chance of a trespassing human getting hurt if they came across a young or less-controlled werewolf. There had to be a strict penalty to trespass or more people would break the laws and it would only cause more suffering. 

So far, Stiles had only found one person, other than Scott, on the Council who might possibly come down on their side. An older werewolf woman, named Eve, who ruled one of the packs over on the east coast, stated that she had never claimed a human as a slave nor did she feel a need to. She claimed that werewolves who paraded their authority over vulnerable humans were “over-compensating for their lack of strength in other areas.” It was a less than subtle insult at those werewolves who kept slaves, but Stiles clung to it as a beacon of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could be persuaded to abolish slavery when it came to the vote. 

There were statements against slavery from other werewolves, but unfortunately none of them held a seat on the Council. When they went to face the Council, Derek and Stiles would be facing those werewolves who had the most to gain from the status quo. 

“Stiles, come to bed,” Derek said. There was no seduction in his tone, just a calm command. 

“Let me just finish here. I want to check up the slave-keeping history of the Council members.” 

“You’re not going to learn anything you don’t already know and you’ll want to have some sleep before we face the Council tomorrow.” 

“Just five more minutes.” 

Derek walked across the room, wrapped his arms around Stiles and lifted him fully out of the chair. 

“Hey!” Stiles protested, flailing his limbs somewhat. He squirmed and tried to escape, but Derek held on firmly, carrying Stiles across the suite and into the bedroom, finally dumping Stiles down on the bed. 

“Get. Some. Sleep.” 

Stiles gave a half-hearted glare, but he realised he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He’d dragged Derek to bed when he’d been working too hard to sleep. OK, Stiles might not have been quite so literal about it, but Derek was just balancing out the universe. 

So Stiles got ready for bed, settling under the covers beside Derek. He couldn’t stop his mind from working though. Derek hadn’t any more information on why they’d been called before the Council. Their assumption was that it was because of the protests, since neither of them could imagine another reason why the Council would demand to see Stiles as well. Which led them to the inevitable conclusion that the Council knew that they’d been manipulating the protests. 

Stiles wasn’t sure what the Council could legally do to him for his part of this, but he couldn’t help the feeling that he was preparing for a trial. He lay in the darkness, hunting the recesses of his mind for something that could turn into a plan. 

Sometime during the night, while Derek snored faintly beside him, Stiles slipped out of the bed, no more rested than he’d been earlier. He found his phone and shut himself in the small bedroom, firing up the camera. He started the video camera, held the phone in front of him, and started talking. 

“My name is Stiles Stilinski. If you’re watching this, then there’s a very good chance that I’m dead. You may know me as the body slave of the alpha Derek Hale. What you almost certainly won’t know is that the whole thing is a ruse. When the Hale pack caught me in their territory, Derek offered me a choice. He told me that he wanted to make changes in how humans are treated by werewolves and werewolf law, but that he wasn’t in a position to make those changes. If I were to join him, ostensibly as his slave, it would give us the opportunity to control the story.” 

Stiles kept talking, explaining the details of what had happened since he’d come to the Hale compound. Most of the details anyway. He didn’t want to explain about how Derek had put on the cursed restraints and lost control, but he told the rest of it, including his kidnapping and the plot to frame Derek over Kelly’s death. He even talked about how Deucalion had tried to convince Scott to kill Derek. 

When he’d finished his narrative, which took quite a while, he turned off the camera, pocketed the phone and slipped out of the room. 

***

Derek woke to hear the faint murmuring off a voice, muffled by the walls of his bedroom. The bed beside him was empty, but the sheets held a residual trace of Stiles’ warmth. He pricked up his ears and identified the source of the voice. Stiles was somewhere nearby, talking, telling the story of the events that had led up to the summons. For a minute, Derek wondered who on earth he was talking to, but there was no second voice, no conversation, no other heartbeat in the suite. The truth came to him: Stiles was leaving a recording. 

Derek had been nervous about tomorrow, but this understanding sent a bolt of fear through him. Stiles didn’t expect to be coming back. He was telling his side now because he didn’t think he’d have a chance to later. 

Derek heard Stiles finish up the story and leave the room, heading off into the compound. Derek wasn’t sure what to do. Deucalion had told Derek to bring Stiles with him, so there was no easy way to avoid it, short of not turning up at all. Refusing a direct order from the Alpha of Alphas would be suicide and a death sentence for his whole pack. No, Derek knew he had to obey Deucalion. 

But he could still have a back-up plan. 

He found his phone and dialled a number. 

“Stilinski!” the voice answered, sounding furious, no doubt because of the late hour. 

“It’s Derek Hale.” 

“Derek? Is Stiles’ alright?” The tone shifted instantly, anger replaced with worry. 

“He is for now, but he’s in danger. I need your help.” 

***

When Stiles returned to the bedroom, Derek rolled over on the mattress to look at him. Stiles could see the gleam of his eyes in the darkness. 

“Sorry,” Stiles said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Are you OK?” 

“Yeah, I just... I wanted... to leave something in case it all goes wrong tomorrow.” 

“Who did you leave the recording with?” 

Stiles guess Derek must have heard. He waited for the anger, for Derek to complain about Stiles acting without discussing it. But there was no anger in his voice. 

So Stiles answered calmly, “Cora. She’ll give it to Matilda if Deucalion kills us, so people will know what’s really been going on.” 

“You could still go. Your dad could get you out of the country, out of Deucalion’s reach.” 

“I’m going to be with you tomorrow. We’ve discussed this.” 

“Stiles, I want you to promise me that if Deucalion kills me, you will run. Go to your dad. Get out. Stay alive.” 

Derek sounded deadly serious. He must have done the same thinking that Stiles had, working out the odds of their surviving the next twenty-four hours. 

“Only if you’re dead,” Stiles said. “Not a second before. We’re in this together.” 

Derek kissed him on the lips and they lay together in the darkness, waiting for tomorrow and everything it would bring. 

***

They took the Camaro. The rest of the pack went to school, where they would pretend everything was normal, all the while waiting for word of what happened. If Derek died, Cora would take over leadership of the pack, but she wouldn’t have the power of an alpha. They would be under threat from every other pack out there. If Derek died, the rest of the pack were likely to die soon after. 

Stiles suspected that was why he’d never gone through with Boyd’s application to become a werewolf. Derek didn’t want to risk anyone else’s life. 

Stiles sat beside Derek in the car, fidgeting, trying to get some of the nervous tension out now so he could be still in front of the Council. They would be able to smell his fear, but he didn’t need to make it easy on them. He would act as though he were calm and unafraid. Today he would not be the weak and trembling slave. 

Derek parked the car and they walked together up the steps and into the old building where Deucalion held court. Stiles walked a step behind as he had last time they’d been here, but he didn’t keep his head bowed today. He looked up, saw the patterns in the brickwork, the long, empty halls. There was no sign of anyone, no hint of human presence. Derek knew his way, so Stiles just followed along until they reached a doorway. A werewolf waited outside, a beta, presumably. He opened the door to allow Derek and Stiles in. 

Today’s meeting wasn’t in the huge auditorium Stiles had seen on his last visit. It was in a smaller meeting room, but the layout of chairs was the same. There was a semi-circle of chairs for the alphas, with a throne at the mid-point for Deucalion. There was no chair for Derek, just a patch of floor for him to stand on between the two ends of the circle. Stiles stood a step behind and to the side of Derek. 

When Derek bowed to Deucalion, Stiles bowed a little deeper, but he didn’t kneel. Not today. 

He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Scott, pale-faced, sitting at the end of the line. He scanned the other faces with his eyes until he found Eve, the one who just might stand on their side. Looking at her now, Stiles stopped believing it. She looked at him with an expression as cold as the one all the others wore. 

“I’m sure you know why you’ve been summoned,” Deucalion said. 

“Why have you summoned me?” Derek asked. 

“We wish to oversee the punishment of your slave, since it seems you are unable to keep him in order.” 

Stiles had expected this, but the words still sent a shock of fear through him. He clenched his hands tighter to make sure they didn’t tremble. He was aware of the eyes of all those werewolves, men and women who could rip him to pieces without effort. He was aware of the blank, blind eyes of Deucalion, and the cruel mind behind them. 

Derek, when he spoke, still sounded perfectly calm, “What offense has he committed that requires punishment?” 

Kali gave a harsh bark of laughter before asking, “Are you really so ignorant of what goes on in your household?” 

Deucalion held up a hand, silencing her. 

“You are aware of the protests regarding the subject of slavery?” Deucalion asked. 

“Of course. There’s one outside my compound even now.” 

“Your slave has been instigating the protests.” 

Derek gave a quite laugh, still sounded calm, “You make it sound like a huge conspiracy. Stiles has said he disapproves of slavery. As a slave, I think he’s entitled to have opinions on the subject.” 

“He has been speaking with anarchists.” 

“I take it you’re referring to Matilda Evan?” Derek said. 

“You knew about this?” asked the big guy, Ennis. 

“What of it? This country protects free speech. Show me where in the law it states that a slave loses those basic rights.” 

“For you to allow such blatant disrespect from your slave undermines your authority as his alpha and the authority of all werewolves,” Deucalion said. 

Derek looked coldly at Deucalion, a thin smile on his face. 

“Are you telling me,” he asked, “that the Council of Alphas and the great Deucalion are afraid of one teenage boy saying a few words to one woman who owns a website? I wasn’t aware that the authority of werewolves was so fragile it could be undermined so easily.” 

There were snarls from around the circle of chairs, some of the alphas rising to the bait of Derek’s insult. Deucalion held up a hand and they settled back down. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Scott trying to contain a smirk. 

“You knew what your slave was doing all along,” Deucalion said. “You allowed it. Why?” 

“Because I don’t believe in slavery either.” 

“You stand before the Council of Alphas and admit to subversive activities intended to undermine our rule.” 

“All I’ve done is say that I don’t believe we should enslave humans. If that is enough to count as subversion, you must truly be terrified of what will happen if the humans ever get true equality. Even a whisper of ending slavery has you trembling in your Council seats. This human teenager has more courage than you ever will.” 

One of the werewolves leapt from his seat, snarling and half-transformed before he’d even jumped. Derek reached out a hand and shoved Stiles away, before meeting the full force of the alpha’s attack. Another werewolf joined in, claws raking down Derek’s side as he tried to fight both of them at once. 

“Run!” Derek snarled at Stiles. 

Stiles just stood there, wishing for a weapon, for something. He had to help, but he had only human fists against the claws and fangs. 

Kali ignored Derek, charging at Stiles. Stiles stumbled backwards a step. Suddenly, claws slashed at Kali’s chest and Scott was there, standing between her and Stiles. Scott’s eyes burned red, his body transforming. He gave Stiles a quick look. 

“Run!” Scott said. Then he turned to help Derek. 

There was nothing Stiles could do. He hated doing this, but he had no way to fight and it would just put them in more danger if Scott and Derek had to keep protecting him from the other werewolves. So Stiles ran, leaving his boyfriend and his best friend in the middle of a whirlwind of slashing claws. He raced down the hallways, his mind racing faster. He had to do something. He had to help somehow. There had to be something he could use to go back and save Derek. Save Scott. 

The werewolf leapt at him from out of the shadows. Stiles hit the floor, head smacking against cold stone. Claws burned through Stiles’ flesh, tearing into him. Yellow eyes glowered into his. Stiles panted for breath with burning lungs, pinned to the floor by the werewolf and by the fire that filled every part of him. 

The gunshot was deafening. The werewolf looked up in surprise. Stiles could barely think, barely notice anything but the pain, but he saw the gun barrel pressing into the side of the werewolf’s head. 

“Lay one more claw on my son and the next bullet goes through your skull!”


	46. Chapter 46

Stiles slipped in and out of dreams. Faces came and went, passing into his field of vision, blurred and confused. He saw his dad and Scott’s mom. He even saw Argent. Waking and sleeping passed in a haze of pain. 

When Stiles finally awoke and stayed awake, pain still ruled his body, but he felt strangely disconnected from it. That might have had something to do with the drip sticking into his arm. This place didn’t look like a hospital though. He was in a small room, windowless and barely large enough for the bed in which he lay and the chair which stood beside it. A chair in which his father dozed. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, his voice coming out a quiet croak. Stiles was suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. The sensation flowed through his numb body and prodded at his sluggish thoughts. 

His father was awake in an instant, turning to face Stiles with an encouraging smile, taking Stiles’ hand in a touch that was so gentle it barely registered. 

“How are you feeling?” his dad asked. 

That was a complicated question with a potentially long and complicated answer, so Stiles settled for simply saying, “Ow.” 

“I’ll bet. That werewolf tried to turn you inside out.” 

“Thirsty.” 

"I'll fetch you something." 

His dad slipped out of the room and left Stiles lying there. Stiles tried to catalogue his pains, but there were too many. He tried to push him up by his elbows into a sitting position, but a furnace of torment surged through his chest. His whole body screamed at him to stop. He collapsed back down onto the bed and focused on breathing because there was nothing else to be done. His dad returned moments later carrying a paper cup with a straw. He put a hand behind Stiles’ head to lift it a little and held the straw to his lips. Stiles drank, the lukewarm water easing his parched throat. 

“Slowly,” his dad said. “Little sips. Let your body get used to it.” 

Stiles forced himself to sip, even though he wanted to gulp down the entire cupful in one swallow. When he finished, he let his head flop back on the pillow, his throat feeling better even if the rest of him was still in agony. 

"How did you find me?” Stiles asked. 

“Derek called me. He warned me what was happening and asked me to be nearby. He was wearing a wire so I could hear what was going on. When the fighting started, we came to get you. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to get to you before you got hurt.”

“How long was I out?” he asked. 

“Three days.” 

“This isn’t a hospital.” 

“No. It’s an Argent safe house. The werewolves are still looking for you.” 

“The Argents?” 

Maybe it was the drugs or the pain, but Stiles couldn’t seem to make sense of this. Why would the Argents be involved? Why would his dad trust them? As though summoned by his name, Chris Argent appeared in the doorway to the little room. 

“Your father offered me an opportunity to confront Deucalion head on. How could I resist?” 

“The Argents helped get you away from the Council of Alphas. They’ve helped hide you. When you’re well enough to move, they’ll help us get out of the country. Looks like you’ll have to learn Swedish after all.” 

Stiles closed his eyes, remembering that last night with Derek and the promise he’d made. Tears stung his eyes at the memory, at the thought of what this might mean. He forced his eyes open again and looked at his dad. 

“Derek?” he asked. “Is he dead?” He had to force the last word out. It stuck in his throat, the concept too terrible to be considered. 

His dad exchanged a look with Argent. 

“Not yet,” Argent said. “Deucalion has called in all the packs, every werewolf in the country. He’s making a show of accusing Derek of conspiring against the Council. He’ll make a public example of him. Two days from now, Deucalion will kill Derek.” 

“But he’s still alive.” That fragile flutter of hope danced through Stiles. 

“We can’t get to him. Deucalion has him imprisoned and guarded. There’s no way we can free him.” 

“And Scott?” Stiles asked, looking to his dad, who just shook his head. 

“We don’t know,” he said. “There’s not been word of Scott since we got you out. Either he’s Deucalion’s prisoner too, or he’s dead. Stiles, I know you want to help them, but you can barely move. We’ve got a handful of hunters but we can’t take on the combined packs of the Council. We’ve lost, Stiles. It’s time to run.” 

Stiles had made his promise to Derek. But he’d added his condition. When Derek was dead and not a second before. 

“We’ve got two days,” Stiles said. “I’m not giving up until it’s over.” 

“And what do you plan to do,” Argent asked. “You can’t fight in your condition.” 

“I’ll fight my way,” Stiles said. “Someone bring me a computer with a webcam and an internet connection.” 

***

“We’ve got a question coming over the feed,” Matilda said, her eyes moving from the camera as she read something off her computer screen. “You’ve lied before. How can we trust that you’re not lying now?” 

Stiles was lying in the other sense of the word, positioned in the bed with visible bandages and a drip still poked into his arm. The computer with its camera was on a table that had been set up next to the bed so that the viewers would be able to see the state Stiles was in. Stiles decided to go with the direct approach. He pushed his blanket down, and peeled back the edge of gauze that covered his chest, revealing the deep, red gashes that had been stitched together by Melissa McCall. 

“I’m not lying now,” he said, “because I don’t need to. Derek and I mislead people into thinking he was hurting me to make everyone think about the suffering of the slaves. He and I could do that and we had to, because the other slaves would never have the opportunity. Some slaves are kept chained up by their masters twenty-four/seven. Some are kept locked away and abused where they’ll never have the chance to speak out. Some are controlled by magic, taking away their very will to resist. My suffering was pretend but theirs isn’t. If my pretence made people more aware of the real suffering endured by werewolves’ slaves, I don’t regret it.” 

He covered up his wounds again, wincing at the pain as his fingers brushed against the injuries. 

His dad had recorded everything that had been broadcast from the Council meeting. He had the audio of everything that had transpired between Derek and Deucalion before the fighting had started. Stiles had made sure that Matilda had the file and by now half the world had listened to it, hearing Derek accuse Deucalion of cowardice and speak out on behalf of the human slaves. Now it was Stiles’ turn to speak, the feed from the web cam being streamed live across the internet while Matilda interviewed him. She’d already shared the video Stiles had given to Cora, but now he told his story again. 

“How do you respond,” Matilda asked, “to those who stay you instigated the protests for your own personal power?” 

“All I did was say that slavery was wrong, to someone who already believed it. I asked you to get the werewolves to talk about it in front of reporters. This is not some grand conspiracy. All I ever did was ask people their opinions, to get the dialogue going. The fact that it took so little to generate this much anger this quickly just shows how important the issue is.” 

Stiles gestured to his father, who stood behind the camera with a cup of water. His father handed it to him, doing his best to stay out of the shot. Stiles swallowed a few mouthfuls to ease his throat. He wanted them to see how difficult this was for him. Stiles handed the cup back and faced the camera again, ready to give the speech he’d planned out, addressing Matilda and human supporters and his enemies alike. 

“I didn’t start this movement,” he said. “Your website existed before I ever met Derek Hale, saying that slavery should be abolished. I didn’t make people leave their homes and join the protests, they did that on their own, because they felt it was right. This protest is not about me. It’s not about Derek. It’s about the thousands, the millions of people out there who are sickened by the fact that some werewolves think they have the right to enslave us and treat us as less than animals. 

“Deucalion means to kill Derek. He wants to make an example of him, but that won’t stop what’s happening. Killing Derek won’t make people close their eyes to the fact that human beings are suffering. It will just show Deucalion for the tyrant he is. 

“And to all the werewolves out there, watching this, I say this: Derek has broken no law. The only thing he’s guilty of is having a different opinion from Deucalion on one subject. Apparently that’s enough for Deucalion to want to kill him. The vows that an alpha takes when he or she becomes part of the Council are to protect werewolves and uphold the laws. Deucalion is doing neither. He’s protecting his own interests. I want you to think about that and decide whether you will stand behind a man who’ll kill so easily, regardless of the laws. Next time, it might be your opinion that differs from Deucalion’s.” 

Stiles finished, staring at the screen for a moment longer, while Matilda worked at her end. 

“OK,” she said. “We’ve finished streaming.” 

Stiles flopped back against the pillows on his bed. His dad rushed to his side. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Should I fetch Melissa. 

“When am I allowed more pain killers?” 

“Not for another hour.” 

“Ow.” He hurt. Everything hurt. He never knew that talking could hurt this much. 

“You rest now,” Matilda said on the computer screen. “I’ll see that everyone in the world watches your statements. 

***

Scott wasn’t sure how long he’d been shut away in the dark. Long enough for hunger and thirst to have set in with a deep ache that seemed to devour him from the inside out. Long enough for his arms and shoulders to hurt from being held over his head by the sturdy chains. Long enough for his fears to whisper through his mind over and over. Was Stiles dead? Was Derek? Did anyone know he was down here? Would anyone come looking for him? 

Would anyone could for him ever again? 

He was exhausted. His position didn’t let him sleep properly, so all he could do was shut his eyes to the darkness until his fears drifted into nightmares and he would wake again, imagining the bloody and damaged bodies of his friends. 

He almost wished someone would come here and torture him, just so that he could see _someone_. Just so he could know that the world hadn’t forgotten him completely. 

How long had he been here? Hours? Days? Weeks? It already felt like a lifetime. 

When he heard footsteps approaching, he thought it was just his imagination again. Then the door open and light fell blindingly into the darkness. Scott turned his head from the glare, squinting, but he could see only a dark blur against the light. Then the door shut again, trapping him once more in blackness. 

This time though, he could hear another’s heartbeat, hear them breathing. And hear the tap-tap-tapping of the cane against the stone floor. 

“You disappoint me, Scott,” Deucalion said.


	47. Chapter 47

Scott waited in the darkness. He waited for Deucalion to keep talking, to pronounce his fate, or even just to reach out and claw him to pieces. Scott held onto the chains around his wrists and stood up straight, but there were chains around his ankles too, so there wouldn't be a damn thing he could do if Deucalion decided to kill him. 

“It doesn’t have to end this way for you,” Deucalion said after what felt like forever. 

“What do you mean?” Scott asked. His voice sounded croaking and harsh. When was the last time he’d had something to drink? 

“Derek will pay for conspiring against the Council of Alphas, but you could still have a bright future ahead of you. You were only protecting your friend. I understand that.” 

Deucalion's fingers reached out from the darkness and brushed against Scott's cheek in a gesture that was a parody of intimacy. Scott flinched away instinctively, but there was nowhere to move to and so those fingers stayed touching, feather-light against his skin. 

“What do you want?” Scott asked. 

“You’re going to make a statement. You’re going to side with the Council against Derek Hale. You’re going to explain how he deceived the general public and stirred up anger in order to divide the Council and claim power for himself. You will re-join the Council and condemn Derek for his lies and treachery.” 

"So you can get rid of Derek and go back to the way things were before?" 

“Not quite as before,” Deucalion said softly. “There is still too much anger around. We need to give the humans something, a token to ease their minds. We will carefully consider the slavery laws and after much debate and weighing up the factors, we will decide that no minor can be held as a slave. All those under the age of eighteen will be released. Your friend will be free. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

So Stiles was alive. He was probably locked in a dark cell like this one, but Deucalion wouldn’t try to use him as leverage if he wasn’t still alive. Scott tried to hold that as a little spark of hope deep inside. 

“What’s the catch?” Scott asked. 

“Someone will have to pay for this chaos. It will be Derek. It needn’t be you.” 

“When you say pay?” 

“Derek Hale will die.” 

Scott swallowed. Why did everything have to get life-or-death? Starting with a random encounter with Peter Hale, everything that he’d got involved in with the werewolves seemed to involve the threat of death. 

“I’m not going to help you kill Derek,” Scott said. 

“I’m not asking you to kill him. His death will happen anyway. Your statement is to save you.” 

There was something about the way he spoke that made Scott feel that something was wrong, though he wasn’t quite sure what it was. His tone was perfectly calm. His heartbeat was perfectly steady. Everything was absolutely relaxed. 

That’s what struck him. It was too perfect. Deucalion was keeping everything under tight control. He was trying to trick Scott into believing that Deucalion held all the cards. But that wasn’t the case at all. Deucalion was nervous. Something about this situation had him worried and so he was here, trying to get a statement out of Scott. 

Scott’s resolve hardened. 

“I don’t abandon my friends,” he said. 

***

“Stiles! What do you think you’re doing?!” 

“Putting on a shirt,” Stiles said. At least, that had been the plan. The reality of the situation involved sitting up and moving his arms and stretching in ways that pulled at the stiches on his chest and stomach. He hadn’t realised how much of a challenge pulling a t-shirt over his head could be. 

“Don’t even think about it, young man. You are going to lie back down and rest. You are in no condition to be going anywhere.”

“Derek is going to be tried before the Council today.” 

“Let Argent handle it.” 

“I wouldn’t trust Argent as far as I could throw him and right now I doubt I could throw a paper plane. I am going to the Council if I have to crawl there naked.” 

Stiles glared at his dad. He suspected the effect was spoiled by the fact that he was struggling to even sit up, but he made his point. His dad sighed and nodded. 

“Now help me put my clothes on.” 

His dad helped with the shirt then they had more of a battle to get the pants on. When Stiles was dressed and feeling as exhausted by the ordeal as he usually felt after a tough lacrosse practice, his dad left the room. Minutes later, he returned with a wheelchair. 

“I’m proud of you, Stiles. You’re strong and you’re brave and loyal to the people you care about. You’ll stand up for what you believe in, even when you can’t stand up. I want you to know, that I’m proud of you. I’m scared out of my mind, but I’m proud.” 

His dad put tentative arms around him. The hug barely touched him, avoiding pressure on any part of him that was hurt, which was far too much of him right now, but his dad’s warmth was solid and comforting nonetheless. Stiles suspected his dad had been ready for this. He suspected his dad had already got the wheelchair ready for him, but had tried arguing just in case. Stiles smiled into his dad’s shoulder. 

“I love you, Dad.” 

“Love you too.” 

Then his dad helped him into the wheelchair. Each movement burned in Stiles’ chest and for a minute afterwards, all he could do was sit back and breathe and wait for the pain to subside. Then he looked at his dad. 

“Can you pass me my folder?” 

His dad picked the thick folder up and placed it in Stiles’ lap. Stiles had spent every waking moment here researching, preparing. This folder held his notes, information on every single werewolf in the country who might possibly be persuaded to come in on their side. Stiles had studied these details so much that facts were burned into his brain, but he would do some last second cramming on the drive to Deucalion’s compound. Just in case. One little detail could make all the difference here. 

His dad wheeled the chair from the room, up in a lift and out to a decrepit parking lot. From the outside, the Argent safe house looked like an abandoned store, boarded up and forgotten, all dirt and shadows in the pre-dawn light. The only sign of life was the truck parked outside, with Argent and Melissa waiting. Allison was there too, a bow strapped across her back. Stiles wasn’t an expert on bows, but it looked familiar. He thought it was the same bow Derek had offered her as a gift. 

“Do you actually have a plan?” Argent asked Stiles. 

“Of course I do. I’m going to do what I do best.” 

“Annoy people?” asked Melissa, smiling sadly. 

“Get in trouble?” suggested Stiles’ dad. 

“Probably both of those,” Stiles said. “I’m going to talk.” 

***

The drive to Deucalion’s compound seemed to take forever. Stiles guessed they’d picked the safe house location because it wasn’t close to the hub of werewolf activities in the US. Stiles tried to focus on his notes, tried to absorb some final detail, but it was hard to focus on anything except the fact that he was going to see Derek again soon. And that Derek would live or die based on what happened over the next few hours. If Stiles screwed this up, everyone would die. 

When they finally approached the compound, Stiles stopped staring at his notes and instead stared out the window of the truck. There were people everywhere, packing around the building. Banners and signs waved from those closest in. On the outskirts of the crowd, Stiles saw evidence of sleeping bags and even tents. People had been camping out here because they hadn’t wanted to miss the events of today. There were news crews stationed around the edges of the crowd, waiting for something to happen. Most of them were filming the approaching truck, just in case it turned out to matter. 

“Stop the truck!” Stiles said. 

“We can get closer,” Argent said. 

“Stop here!” 

Argent stopped, parking on the edge of the road to the compound. Those that lined the road were already staring. 

“What are you planning?” his dad asked. 

“That’s Matilda’s sister there,” Stiles said, pointing to a nearby reporter, waiting with her cameraman for the story to break. “We’re going to give her the story of her career. Now help me into the wheelchair.” 

His dad got out of the truck, getting the chair out of the back and taking it round to Stiles’ door. The truck was positioned to give the camera a perfect view. Stiles left his notes behind; either he would know enough or he wouldn’t. He leaned on his dad heavily and let himself be lowered into the chair. Melissa made a point of checking to make sure he hadn’t torn any stitches or anything. The whole scene was caught on camera. Most of the other news crews were crowding round now as well. 

“Invite her to come with us,” Stiles said quietly to Melissa. “Her camera guy too. We’re going to need a record of this.” 

Then their group started moving towards the compound. Stiles could feel everyone staring at them. He could feel the weight of their eyes watching him. What if he screwed this up? Why on earth were the hunters and his dad and everyone letting him call the shots here? Why the hell did he think he could win? 

Stiles tried to squash his doubts down. He tried to looked resolved and confident. 

The crowds parted for them as they got close to the building. Human protestors pressed to the sides to let the little group through. As they came close to the steps, Stiles saw the werewolves. There were several guarding the door, as Stiles had expected, but there was another little group that it lit his heart to see. 

Cora, Isaac and Erica stood at the bottom of the steps, watching Stiles approach. Every werewolf in the country had been invited, but Derek’s pack were being kept outside. Stiles nodded to them. They nodded back. They were smiling at him, looking at him as though they expected him to have some grand idea to save the day. The weight of their faith added to the burden currently smothering Stiles. 

His dad pushed the chair to the base of the steps. The guarding werewolves moved to block the way. There were about a dozen of them at this entrance. There would be others at every other way into the compound. Stiles looked at them, tried to match their faces to the images in his notes. 

Today was a big day for the werewolves. Everyone of importance would have a place inside. Those left on the outside were the ones without the power or influence to be allowed in. Most of these would be omegas, with a few betas from the lesser packs. Stiles smiled inwardly. The people Deucalion had left guarding the doors were the ones who had gained least by his rule. And the ones who had lost. 

Stiles turned to Derek’s pack. 

“Do you mind lifting the chair up the stairs,” he said pleasantly. “It seems someone didn’t bother getting this place up to code for accessibility.” 

“You’re not allowed in,” snarled one of the guard werewolves. Stiles didn’t know this guy’s name, but that wasn’t too important, because he recognised two of the others standing behind him. 

“I have an appointment,” Stiles said, “authorised by someone more important than you.” 

“Well I know it wasn’t Deucalion,” the werewolf said. “So who authorised it?” 

The werewolf looked extremely smug for someone who’d been told to play watchdog. Stiles guessed he was some beta who’d been put in charge of the rest by Deucalion, who hoped to win favour by keeping out the undesirables. Stiles just looked past him, meeting the eyes of the two whose names he had in his notes. 

“Sandra Pennan and Fernando DeSantos.” 

Lead werewolf looked puzzled, “Who the hell are they?” 

Stiles continued looking past him, “Deucalion intends to kill someone who hasn’t done anything wrong. I don’t intend to let him.” 

“I don’t care what you intend,” lead werewolf said. “You’re lucky you’re still alive after all the trouble you’ve caused so you should just get out of here before...” 

Whatever threat he might have made was drowned in a puddle of blood that bubbled out of his mouth. One of the other werewolves had shoved her claws into the lead werewolf’s neck. She tossed him aside like he was nothing. Some of the others were surprised, snarling on instinct and wondering if they should fight. But the second werewolf that Stiles had address snarled at them, siding with the first. 

The first werewolf had been the older sister of Fernando DeSantos, who’d been just one of many betas killed in a territory dispute between Deucalion’s pack and theirs. The second werewolf had been the son of Sandra Pennan, who’d been one of Deucalion’s pack before he slaughtered the lot of them. The son had fled, turned omega, when his mom had been killed. Now both of them were omegas, the lowest rung in the werewolf hierarchy. Both of them had lost loved ones to Deucalion. Stiles had invoked the names of their lost family members in the hope of a reaction like this. He’d hoped they’d choose to side with him, in the hope that someone would stand up to Deucalion the way they hadn’t been able to. 

Cora, Isaac and Erica were on the steps now, standing with the two who’d just defected to Stiles’ cause. The other werewolves looked at them, looked at the cameras and the waiting crowds, and seemed to weigh up their future options. They moved aside. 

The doors into the compound were open. Cora and Isaac each took a hold of Stiles’ chair and lifted it up the steps. As they passed, Stiles gave a genuine thanks to the two who had helped them. One of them nodded back, but the other looked at him seriously and said, “Make him pay.” 

Then they were up the steps and heading inside the doors. Stiles could hardly believe that had worked. For all his planning, he hadn’t actually expected getting inside to be that easy. He’d hoped he could persuade some of the werewolves to join them, but he’d thought it would be harder. He guessed he’d underestimated the hatred those guys felt for Deucalion. Their group moved into the compound. Stiles was at the front, his dad still pushing the chair. Derek’s werewolves flanked him, with the reporter and her camera guy behind them. Then came the Argents, weapons stowed away. They weren’t going to win this by fighting.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter in a hurry, so I apologise in advance for any typos.

Derek was tired to the point where he was just hanging from the chains because the effort of standing was too much. His hunger was a gnawing beast inside him, clawing away at his stomach until he was considering eating the flesh off his own arm just so that he could have something to fill his stomach. His thirst was what burned at him, stripping all moisture from his mouth and leaving him shaking and weak. They’d brought him water twice since they’d chained him up in here, but never enough to do more than dull the edge of this powerful, burning thirst. 

They hadn’t tortured him. They hadn’t needed to. His own body was doing a fine job of that on its own. 

When the cell door opened and left him blinking in the light, Derek was almost hoping that they’d come to kill him. There were four of them, werewolves he didn’t recognise. They crossed the dark cell to him and detached the chains from the wall. 

Derek tried to stand, but his legs gave way beneath him. The werewolves didn’t even try to slow his fall and he ended up flat on the stone floor of his cell. When they grabbed his chains to haul him out, Derek tried once more to stand. He managed it and stumbled along between them, knowing that if he fell again, they’d probably just drag him to wherever he was going. He wanted to ask them where he was going, but he didn’t think he’d be able to shape his parched mouth around the words. 

He recognised the auditorium when they dragged him into it, though it looked different from the last time he’d been here. It was packed full. The chairs were jammed together in their tiers, each one occupied by a werewolf. There were more werewolves seated on the stairs or standing around the walls, squeezed in wherever there was a gap. Even the floor in front of the stage was filled with more chairs and more people. 

The only area of space was on the stage itself. The chairs for the Council were spaced apart as always, and there was a semi-circle of empty floor between them. This was where Derek was taken, forced to his knees in the half-ring or alpha werewolves. Those that had brought him here bowed to Deucalion and then slipped to the side of the stage, waiting against the wall so that they too could watch. 

Derek had never felt so many eyes staring down at him. 

Derek expected Deucalion to kick off whatever parody of ceremony he was planning, but there was a small delay. Then the door opened again and another group of werewolves entered, dragging in another figure in chains. Scott. 

He looked pale and ill, filthy and tired. He looked drawn and thin, with dark shadows under his eyes, clearly struggling to walk between the hands that held him. He looked like Derek felt, like he was half a step away from death. They forced him to kneel too, but the moment the hands let go of him, he struggled to his feet and stood there, swaying slightly, and glaring at Deucalion with defiance. 

Derek wasn’t going to be outdone. He got his feet under him and stood up. He felt the surge of dizziness and shut his eyes for a moment, waiting for it to pass. 

There was a murmur of voices around the hall, too many for Derek to pick out any words, just a background hum of noise. Deucalion held up his hand and silence fell instantly. 

“We are here,” Deucalion said, “to see justice done on Derek Hale and Scott McCall for their subversion and their betrayal of their kind.” 

Deucalion’s speech faltered. There was a scuffling noise beyond the door. Derek turned towards it and had to fight down another wave of dizziness. Then a body came flying through the doors, a werewolf thrown into the room. 

Cora strode through, presumably the one who had done the flinging. Derek wanted to scream at her to run, to tell her that she couldn’t win this fight. But she stood at the entrance and just held open one of the double doors. Isaac was there, holding open the other door. 

“Is this a private meeting or can anyone join in?” called out a voice. Derek’s heart caught in his throat. Stiles came in, sitting in a wheelchair. There were others behind him, but Derek struggled to see anyone but Stiles. He was alive. 

Joy warred with fear. Stiles couldn’t be here. He’d just get himself killed this time. 

“This meeting is not for you,” Deucalion said. 

“Really?” Stiles worked his hands on the chair’s wheels and drove himself through the crowd to a position just in front of the stage. “Because I think this meeting’s about me. And last time I was here, one of your werewolves tried to cut my intestine into bite-sized chunks for trying to leave. Besides, there are about five thousand people outside who think this is my business.” 

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Deucalion asked, his voice low and angry. 

Stiles gave a bark of laughter. “My torso resembles a crossword puzzle and the only things holding me up right now are stiches and painkillers. I doubt I could even stand after what one of your pack did to me. How could I possibly be a threat?” 

Derek looked beyond Stiles to the camera that was filming everything. Stiles had just declared himself utterly helpless and by doing so had just made himself invulnerable. No one in this room could touch him now. If Deucalion or anyone else tried to hurt Stiles, they would be proving themselves monsters, attacking a defenceless boy. The entire world would see it and condemn them for it. Derek just had to hope that Deucalion knew the camera was there. 

Stiles turned to one of the werewolves who had an aisle seat just below the stage. 

“Do you mind helping get me up there?” he asked. “Seriously, this place is terrible for accessibility.” 

The werewolf in question looked confused. He blinked at Stiles, then looked towards Deucalion, finally casting his eyes around as though looking for someone to give him instruction. 

“Please?” Stiles said. 

Still hesitant, the werewolf stood. He took hold of the wheelchair and lifted the whole thing, Stiles still sitting in it, and placed it on the front of the stage. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said. Stiles wheeled himself into a position between Scott and Derek. Then he turned to Deucalion. 

“I’m as involved in this as Derek and Scott,” Stiles said, “so if you’re going to try them, it makes sense to try me at the same time. Now, what crime have we been accused of?” 

There was a seething anger in the room. Most of the werewolves present clearly couldn’t believe the way this upstart human was acting. They were shocked and confused as well, but the anger was so strong that Derek could feel it like a solid force. Stiles carried on regardless, apparently oblivious, though he could hardly have missed the fury on Deucalion’s face. 

Derek hoped Stiles had a plan. He’d better have a plan. Derek glanced back towards the door. Behind the camera, he saw Stiles’ dad along with Argent and Argent’s daughter. Surely they wouldn’t be standing so calmly unless there was a plan? But Derek couldn’t stop the horrifying vision of Stiles being his usual, flippant self and getting his throat ripped out for it. 

When Deucalion spoke, it was with a cold rage that filled Derek with a sense of terror. 

“Derek Hale and Scott McCall have conspired to undermine the authority of the Council of Alphas, and to destabilised the position of all werewolves.” 

“Conspired?” Stiles interrupted cheerfully. “That’s a very dramatic way of putting it, isn’t it? Derek let me have a conversation with a woman called Matilda Evan, who owns a website that basically says she doesn’t like the current laws around slavery. It’s hardly a conspiracy. Matilda’s been pretty public about her opinions on the subject.” 

“He stirred up anti-werewolf feelings to discredit us and bring about the current situation of protests and instability.” 

“Let’s look at how he stirred up those feelings, shall we?” Stiles said. “He suggested asking people their opinion on the whole slavery issue.” Stiles spun the wheelchair around, he peered out into the audience. “You were asked your opinion. And you. And you.” Stiles continued, jabbing his finger towards members of the audience. Derek looked, and thought he recognised some of the faces as being off Stiles’ list, the one where he’d suggested werewolves to approach who’d never taken slaves. 

Stiles spun his chair back to face Deucalion. 

“That’s the crime you accuse Derek of? Asking his fellow werewolves their opinion on a subject? Good job he didn’t suggest having a vote. God knows how you’d have reacted to that.” 

Derek heard a couple of quiet chuckles from the audience, but mostly he was aware of the anger. He could practically taste it in the air. It wasn’t all directed at Stiles anymore. 

Stiles kept talking, “You claim there’s a conspiracy but there didn’t need to be. All Derek did was ask people what they thought. How is that a crime? Name a single law that he’s broken.” 

“Derek challenged the authority of the Council.” 

“Oh. Oh OK then. That’s different. I mean, challenges are a part of life for werewolves, right? Packs challenge each other over territory disputes. You got your super-alpha powers because one of your pack tried to challenge you for the alpha position. Derek became an alpha by challenging his uncle. It happens. I can’t argue about you needing to deal with a direct challenge. But,” here Stiles looked back at the audience, “I’m a little confused. I know I probably don’t know as much about challenges as all you guys here today, but I wasn’t aware that the usual response to a challenge was to chain someone up and,” Stiles looked at Derek, frowning. He jumped topics abruptly. “Have you eaten anything since I last saw you?” 

“No,” Derek said. It came out as a painful croak, his throat still dry. He heard a murmur running through the audience. 

“So Deucalion’s reaction to a challenge was to have his challenger chained up and starved for several days, before dragging him out for a public trial.” 

The murmur in the auditorium grew angrier. Derek watched Stiles with awe. He’d seen Stiles working at research with deep dedication. He’d seen him bright with ideas and intelligence. He’d seen him fiery with defiance for what he believed him. At this moment, all of that came together into a young man whose body was battered and broken, but who would continue to fight with every weapon he had available to him. 

The werewolves were used to fighting, but their weapons were claws and teeth. Werewolves settled challenges with power and strength. Stiles had taken that option away and now faced down his enemies with words alone. This was not a even battlefield. 

Deucalion tried to get control again. 

“It was not a direct challenge,” he said. “Derek Hale worked to subvert the authority of the Council of Alphas.” 

Stiles smiled, “Subvert authority, you say? Kind of like being invited into another alpha’s home as a guest and approaching one of his betas and encouraging that beta to challenge the alpha.” 

The angry murmur rose higher. 

“You are misinterpreting what happened!” Deucalion said. 

“Actually, that’s exactly what happened,” Scott said, his voice sounding as rough as Derek’s had been. “You were a guest in Derek’s home and you tried to convince me to kill him.” 

Stiles gave a cold smile. A predator’s smile. 

“You tried to subvert authority in his pack,” Stiles said. “Apparently that’s a crime worthy of being starved for five days and then put on trial before every werewolf you can fit in the room. Maybe we should have a vote on whether this is fair?” 

He spun the chair again, looking out at the audience. 

“This is not a democracy,” Deucalion roared. 

“Apparently not,” Stiles said, “or it would matter that you said that the continuing support of slavery is an abomination.” Stiles gestured towards a large black guy near the end of the third row. “Or that you said that some alphas use the laws to commit acts which should be condemned for the crimes they are.” He addressed that to a tall woman near the back of the room. Then he turned again, looking across the stage towards Eve, one of the oldest of the alphas, saying, “Or that you said that no child should be taken as a slave.” 

Stiles turned back to the audience, “Deucalion doesn’t care about your opinions.” 

“That’s not true,” Deucalion said. 

Stiles ignored him, “He dragged Derek and Scott here in chains because their opinions differ from his own. They haven’t broken any laws. All they’ve done is possess opinions which are not the same as Deucalion’s. How many of you would like to be here in their place? Deucalion decides what’s allowed and not allowed, what you’re allowed to say and what you’re allowed to think.” 

“That’s not true,” Deucalion said again. 

“Then name the law that Derek and Scott have broken!” 

There was a silence. Stiles glared at Deucalion’s blank eyes. Those blank eyes glared back. 

Derek wondered what was going on inside Deucalion’s head. He wouldn’t want to back down. Backing down from this loud, irritating human would seem weak. But the room was filled with anger and all of it now was directed against Deucalion. 

They were stronger in numbers. Derek had defeated Peter because he’d had Cora on his side, because they’d been pack. Now, there were hundreds of werewolves united in their anger against Deucalion. If he persisted, they might attack him. Even a demon wolf couldn’t stand up to all of them together. Stiles sat there, at the heart of it all, with powerful forces on either side. He wasn’t going to back down. 

“Perhaps I was hasty in my reaction to Alpha Hale’s actions,” Deucalion said. 

“And Alpha McCall?” Stiles said. 

“As you say.” 

“So they’re free to go?” 

“Yes.” The word escaped Deucalion’s lips as a low growl. 

The noise that rose up was deafening. There were cries of delight, and Derek recognised Cora’s voice in the mix. There were cries of anger. Far more though were the cries of shock and astonishment, that this injured human should have apparently beaten Deucalion. 

Stiles held up a hand. Silence fell. It wasn’t quite a sudden as when Deucalion had made a similar gesture earlier, but it was impressive nonetheless. The werewolves reacted to Stiles, acted like he had authority. 

“There’s still this issue of the slavery laws to discuss,” Stiles said. 

“That is a matter for the Council of Alphas to discuss,” Deucalion said. “Perhaps we should retire to debate the issue.” 

“Why not do it here? You’re all here. Even Scott. Shouldn’t someone go fetch him a chair? After all, he is a fully sworn-in member of the Council of Alphas.” 

There was movement. Someone was actually hurrying off to obey. Derek could have laughed, but he needed to retain all his strength for standing upright. 

“The laws exist to protect humans,” Deucalion said. “It can be extremely dangerous for a human to come uninvited into a werewolf’s territory. The instincts to protect the home and pack are very powerful. It’s easy for a young or inexperienced werewolf to lose control, particularly around the full moon, and attack someone they seen as an intruder. There has to be a severe penalty against trespassing to prevent people treating the boundaries carelessly and getting hurt.” 

“And that penalty has to be a lifetime of servitude, does it? You couldn’t just have a rule that says if you’re stupid enough to walk into a werewolf’s territory at the full moon and you get hurt, you shouldn’t complain about it afterwards? And what about territories where the pack can control their instincts. I mean, you’re not animals, are you?” 

There was another angry murmur at the implications of Stiles’ words. Derek wondered if Stiles had pushed too far. 

“Most werewolves I’ve met,” Stiles said, “have been intelligent, rational people. There have been a couple of occasions where a werewolf has lost control but one of those occasions was due to outside influence and other was a werewolf who’d only just been turned and was still figuring things out. I like to believe that the majority of you are sensible people and won’t go around randomly attacking humans, and where there is someone inexperienced, I’d hope the pack would help to keep them in control. But maybe I’m wrong. Obviously, you know more about werewolves than me. If you think that the majority of werewolves are monsters who’ll kill helpless humans at the slightest provocation, I’m happy to be corrected.” 

Stiles was good! Deucalion couldn’t argue. If he protested that Stiles was wrong, then he was insulting his entire race, including himself. 

“There are still many risks to humans crossing werewolf territories.” 

"So have a penalty for trespass, but let there be a system of justice around it. There shouldn’t be a single response for all cases. If a child accidentally steps one foot into werewolf territories because they don’t understand the boundary markers, then under the current system, that child can be used as a body slave for the rest of their natural life by the alpha who rules that territory. Is that right? Is that protecting humans?” 

“The alpha of the territory has the right to be lenient if the situation warrants it.” 

“But they also have the right to do whatever they like.” 

So far, the debate had been between Stiles and Deucalion, but now another of the alphas added a voice to the argument. Kali spoke up. 

“Some humans crave submission,” she said. “Some enter the territories in full knowledge of the law because they wish to serve.” 

“If people want to enter into a kinky master/slave relationship, I have no problem with it. That’s down to their choices. But it shouldn’t be forced on them.” 

“My slave is perfectly content to serve me.” 

“Because you used magical items to make her more submissive. That’s not her willingly being your slave. That’s the most twisted form of rape I can imagine.” 

The anger had risen up again in the audience. Derek wondered how many of them had realised that Kali used magic, how many of them considered her actions rape as Stiles did. 

“You have a point,” Deucalion said. “We can amend the law so that those captured under it have the right to appeal. If they believe there are extenuating circumstances around their trespass, they can appeal to the Council to be freed. We have also been debating whether there should be an exception for children. We had planned to make the announcement after the trial. From this point on, no minor may be kept as a slave.” 

“Not good enough!” Stiles said. “Slavery should be abolished completely.” 

“You do not have the right to alter the law!” Deucalion snarled. “You should not even have the right to speak at the Council.” 

“But I do,” said Scott. “I have a voice on the Council and a vote. I can propose a motion. I propose that slavery be abolished.” 

This was a mistake. It was too soon. Scott had made the motion. All it would take now was for the Council to vote it down and they would have lost. 

But Stiles hadn’t finished. He smiled round at each of the alphas who sat at the Council. 

“When you place your votes, I’d like you to remember the vows you took when you claimed your seats. You vowed to act as a leader and to protect the good of all werewolves. The rest of the werewolves in this room don’t get a vote, but that doesn’t mean their opinions don’t matter. And there are all of the thousands of humans outside who have their opinions. They matter too. History will remember this day. People will remember who stood on the side of freedom and who voted to allow humans to have their freedom, their dignity and even their will stripped away from them.” 

Someone arrived with a chair, positioning it at the end of the semi-circle on the stage. Scott walked over to it, a little hesitantly, given that there were still chains around his wrists and ankles. He sank into the chair with clear gratitude. Derek wished he could sit, but his only option was to collapse onto the floor and he wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing that. 

“I vote to abolish the slavery laws,” Scott said. 

The vote moved around the circle of alphas. Deucalion and Kali voted against, of course, as did Ennis. But the rest of the werewolves sided with Scott. Most of them looked towards the camera as the votes were being cast. They probably knew that hoards of protesting humans would mob them if they said anything else. 

As the final vote was spoken, Derek wondered if he’d fallen unconscious and this was all just a wonderful dream, because there was no way in hell they could have just won.


	49. Chapter 49

It was hard for Stiles to focus on what came after the vote. Fear had allowed him to ignore the pain for a time, but it was back now with a vengeance. Every part of him seemed to hurt. He would have sworn that even his hair ached, which shouldn’t have been possible. His stomach was a throbbing mass of torment, with each beat of his heart reminding him how much it hurt. 

So Stiles just sat there in the wheelchair, while other people ran off to find keys to let Derek and Scott out of their chains. Derek lent over the chair once to kiss him, but there was too much exhaustion in the both of them for the kiss to have much passion. There was just relief, and a soft smile of gratitude. Stiles knew he should be excited, thrilled by what had happened, but even surprise at being alive was too much to manage right now. 

Derek pushed the chair out of the hall. Stiles suspected it was because Derek needed something to lean against as much as anything else. He certainly didn’t seem to be walking all that steadily. 

Melissa appeared at their side, holding out plastic bottles to Scott and Derek. The bottles held a pale, orange liquid: much diluted fruit juice. Stiles wasn’t sure where she’d got them from. Right now, he found it hard to care. Scott fumbled the lid off with shaking hands and looked set to down the whole thing in a single gulp. 

“Sip it slowly,” Melissa advised. “You don’t want to throw up. I’ll check you all out when we get somewhere safe.” 

Derek sipped and pushed the chair then sipped again. Scott leaned against his mom. They moved in a little cluster, with the Argents and Stiles’ dad and Derek’s pack acting as honour-guard and protectors. They emerged at the top of the steps, blinking in the bright sunlight, staring down at the waiting hoards. 

“The Council of Alphas have voted to abolish slavery!” Argent yelled. 

The cheers rose instantly, voices yelling out in delight. Stiles tried to smile, aware of the cameras pointed in his direction. Those nearest tried to speak to them, to congratulate them, to thank them. It was Stiles’ dad who held them back, insisting that they needed medical treatment. It didn’t take much to convince people. After all, Derek had got through half the bottle of juice and still looked ready to face-plant down the steps. 

Cora fetched the Camaro and helped Scott into the passenger seat. Stiles’ dad helped Stiles and Derek into the back. The rest of them would be following in Argents’ truck. Melissa gave Scott a quick hug and promised to be right behind them. 

Stiles leaned against the back seat of the car, a hand clutched across his stomach. He hoped Melissa had the good painkillers because the last dose he’d been given had long-since worn off. As Cora drove off, Derek turned to Stiles, reaching a hand across the back seat. 

“You were amazing,” Derek said. 

Stiles turned and managed a smile. He took his hand from his stomach so that he could take Derek’s hand. He wanted reassurance that this was real, that he’d actually won, that he’d got Derek back. 

“Stiles? Is that blood?” 

***

Stiles woke in a haze, floating in a sea of sensations that didn’t quite register with his consciousness. He stared up at the bed’s canopy for some time before it came into focus enough for his brain to remember what it meant. The big bed in Derek’s suite in the compound. Home. Safe. 

There was still pain, but he was somehow disconnected from it, as though it were happening to someone else. There was tiredness still, a leaden weight that filled his limbs and left him with the feeling that lying here motionless was good. Movement was over-rated. 

He slept again and woke to a room in mostly darkness. There was a light nearby, but it was positioned to shine away from the bed. Stiles summoned his will and turned his head, seeing Derek in a chair by the bedside, a dim lamp allowing him to read. 

Derek looked up instantly at the slight movement, setting the book aside and smiling down at Stiles. 

“Hi,” Derek said. 

“Hey,” Stiles managed, weakly. 

“Apparently talking a lot can be aggravating for stomach injuries,” Derek said. Stiles ought to come up with something clever to say in response. Probably something about how his talking usually aggravated people, so it was only justice. But the words wouldn’t assemble themselves in the right order. 

He settled for saying, “Oh.” 

Stiles started to move a hand towards his stomach, feeling for the injuries that had caused so much trouble. That was when he became aware of the jangle of chains. He pulled his hands out from beneath the covers. Fur-lined cuffs encased his wrists, attached to long chains that an experimental tug proved were fixed to either edge of the bed. The chains were loose enough to give Stiles freedom of movement, but they would make getting out of bed impossible. He turned to glare at Derek. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Derek said. “The doctor prescribed bed rest so that’s exactly what I’m going to give you. You’re not going anywhere?” 

“Seriously?” Stiles asked, more amused than anything else that Derek would take such instructions to this extreme. 

“You’re also not supposed to talk too much. If I hear words of more than one syllable coming out of your mouth and I will gag you.” 

Stiles laughed, which turned out to be a mistake. Laughing hurt worse than talking. Stiles bit down on the stabbing pain that filled his stomach and he just lay back against the pillows. Derek reached out a hand to rest against Stiles’ shoulder. 

“The kitchen sent up some broth to help me get my strength back. It’s pretty good. You want some?” 

Stiles nodded. Derek went off to the other room to fetch it. Stiles supposed there were worse things that being in bed while a werewolf waited on him hand and foot. Derek returned with two bowls and he set them down on the bedside table while he helped Stiles sit up. When Stiles was carefully balanced against a mound of pillows, Derek gave him the bowl of what proved to be a thin soup that was tasty enough, but lukewarm now. Derek ate his own bowlful. He looked considerably better now than he had done in front of the Council. Stiles wondered how long he’d been out and how many bowls of soup Derek had been forced to drink in that time. 

“You talk,” Stiles said, when the silence was too much. He stuck to short words so that Derek would have an excuse to go for the gag. Derek smiled and set his now-empty bowl down. 

“What should I say?” Derek said. “Should I tell you that seeing you in front of the Council was the most incredible thing I’ve seen in my whole life? You were so brave, standing up to Deucalion like that, and so clever. You wouldn’t let him get away with anything, you just kept pushing until he dug himself into a hole for you.” 

Stiles wanted to dismiss it, to say that it had just been talking, that he’d been terrified the whole time, but he wasn’t supposed to talk. Derek kept speaking, smiling across at Stiles. 

“You risked your life to come and get me,” Derek said. “I’m never going to forget it. I’m never going to stop being grateful. And I’m never going to stop loving you for it.” 

***

They put off the press conference for as long as they could because Stiles needed to recover, but it had to be done. There were so many stories flying around and so many people pestering for a word from those who’d been at the heart of it. They’d discussed the options and chosen to have the conference in Derek’s study, since it would let Stiles sit down and still look natural. The staff had arranged the furniture so that there were two armchairs, positioned on either side of the fireplace. It would make a nice backdrop for the pictures. 

Stiles sat in one of the chairs, still dosed up on pain killers but considerably stronger than he’d been a couple of days ago. Derek took the other chair. The positioning was perfectly symmetrical, a symbol that they were in this as equals. 

A small and carefully selected group of reporters were shown in. They started asking their questions. As they began, the questions were initially all directed at Derek, asking him how he felt about the situation. They even asked Derek about Stiles’ recovery. 

Stiles cut across then, answering the question as if it had been addressed to him. He was aware of Derek’s faint smirk, quickly smothered. From that point, the questions were more equally distributed. Someone asked Stiles what would happen to him now that he wasn’t a slave, and whether he’d go back to his father’s house. 

“We haven’t discussed it in detail,” Stiles answered. “I’m sure my dad wants me home, but there are times when he works nights and I’ll probably come back here on those occasions. Get the best of both worlds.” 

“How are you celebrating your freedom?” someone else asked. 

Stiles grinned, “In ways I’m not going to detail because my dad reads your paper and technically, now I’m not a slave, I’m underage again.” 

There was laughter at that. Stiles had just admitted to illegal sexual acts with Derek, but no one was going to call them out on it. Everyone knew that they’d been physical and it wasn’t going to stop now. At least they could now know that it was entirely consensual. 

Someone asked them how they felt about the situation with Kali. 

“What situation?” Stiles asked. 

“She was found dead. All the evidence points to her former slave as the killer.” 

“It seems Julia wasn’t as contended being a slave as Kali thought,” Stiles said. He didn’t say that Kali deserved everything she got and that he hoped that Julia had made it hurt. He just thought it loudly. 

“Our sympathies to Kali’s friends and family,” Derek added diplomatically. 

“Do you think you will go for her seat on the Council of Alphas?” 

“I am not in favour with Deucalion,” said Derek. “I doubt he would consider me for the position.” 

If Deucalion did offer the job to Derek, it would probably be just to get him close enough to kill him. Deucalion was dealing with a lot right now, including challenges from some of the other alphas, but he wouldn’t have forgotten Derek and Stiles. If he came out the other side of this mess alive, he would be looking for revenge. 

But that was tomorrow’s problem. 

The questions continued a little longer. Stiles felt the ache starting to set in. Derek must have noticed because he stood up. 

“I want to thank you all for attending today. We’ve reached the end of our time but there is one final question that Stiles needs to answer. 

Stiles wondered what the hell Derek was talking about. Then Derek dropped to one knee. 

“Stiles, will you marry me?”


	50. Chapter 50

“I take it Scott is going to be the best man?” Cora asked, as the pack sat or stood around the table on Sunday evening, tucking into dinner and discussing Derek’s dramatic proposal, which had been major news across the country. 

“Of course,” Stiles and Scott said together. They met each other’s eyes and laughed. Scott technically wasn’t part of the pack anymore, now that he was an alpha in his own right, but that hadn’t stopped him showing up for pack night. 

“So I guess that means I’ll have to be Derek’s bridesmaid,” Cora continued. 

“Why am I the bride?” Derek asked. 

“Don’t worry,” said Erica. “I’m sure you’ll look lovely in white.” 

Conversation continued with much teasing. They hadn’t seriously discussed plans for the wedding yet because it couldn’t happen for a while. Stiles was still under eighteen. Besides, he had a future ahead of him filled with college and career opportunities. They’d received a letter the other day, congratulating Stiles on his oratory and offering him a scholarship to study law at Harvard. Derek suspected that once word of that got round, Stiles would be getting a whole lot more offers coming in. He could have his choice of future. The wedding didn’t have to happen right away. 

Derek would rather wait. He’d wanted the proposal to be a signal that he and Stiles were equals in this, that it was a partnership. Their continued relationship would raise all sorts of questions if they didn’t send a clear message about where they stood. But their relationship was too much in the public eye already. He wanted all of this to die down, to be forgotten, so that when they did get married, it would be about them rather than politics. 

Derek let the pack’s chatter wash over him as he ate his dinner, watching Stiles laugh and smile with the rest. There had been so many times recently when this had seemed impossible. He wasn’t sure how they’d managed to come through it, but they had, passing through fear and kidnappings and arrests and everything. Derek couldn’t help wonder what he’d done to deserve someone like Stiles and the only answer that came to him was that he didn’t deserve him. But he’d spend the rest of his life trying to. 

“I think we should get out of here,” Isaac said. “Derek’s going all dreamy-eyed.” 

Derek reached out to whack him round the head, but Isaac dodged away, grinning. 

“Let’s leave the love-birds to it,” Cora agreed. The rest of the pack made their exit. Soon Derek was left alone with Stiles, who was still laughing. 

The laughter faded. Stiles' face set in a look of quiet determination with a wicked glint of excitement in his eyes. Those eyes flicked towards the bedroom door. 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Derek asked. “I don’t want to have to explain to Melissa if we need to get you stitched up again.” 

“I can handle what I’ve got planned.” 

Derek tried to look casual, “You’ve got plans?” 

“I’ve always got plans.” The grin was back on Stiles’ face, but there was a different note to it now. 

“You look evil,” Derek said. Stiles gave a short laugh that was a step away from being a cackle. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” 

The grin widened. “Oh yeah. Big time.” 

Stiles took Derek by the hand and led him towards the bedroom. Stiles ordered Derek to strip while he got things ready. Stiles appeared to ignore him, getting out the cuffs and chains that Derek had so recently used to trap Stiles in the bed. Only the faint hint of Stiles’ arousal let known the lie. Derek took off his clothes and carefully folded them, before standing to attention at the end of the bed. 

“Get on,” Stiles ordered, “on your back.” 

Derek obeyed. He still wasn’t sure which was hotter, Stiles in chains or Stiles in charge, but there was definitely something to be said for Stiles’ style. He planned things. And when he planned them, he did so thoroughly. 

Stiles wrapped Derek’s wrists in the soft cuffs, adjusting the chains so that Derek was held outstretched. Stiles’ fingers danced down Derek’s skin, caressing the smooth flesh of his arms as he held him trapped. 

“Don’t break this bed,” Stiles teased, “or you’ll be sleeping on the couch for a week. Alone.” 

The threat wasn’t likely to be necessary. Secure though these cuffs were, they weren’t magical. Derek would break through the cuffs before he broke the sturdy metal of the bed. Still, he smiled and said, “Yes, sir.” 

Stiles grinned down at him, moving to restrain Derek’s legs in the same business-like fashion. He tested the chains, checking that Derek was held securely in position. Then Stiles climbed onto the bed and positioned himself, kneeling between Derek’s out-stretched legs. 

Still smiling wickedly, he ran a finger up the length of Derek’s half-hard penis. Then again. And again. 

Derek bucked instinctively, trying to get more pressure, more speed, more anything. Stiles chuckled at the back of his throat and continued his light, teasing touches, gently coaxing Derek closer to hardness. It seemed to take hours, Stiles content to do everything slowly. Gradually, Stiles gave him more contact, eventually wrapping finger and thumb around the shaft and pumping, but still too slowly, still too lightly. 

“What do you think is going to happen next?” Stiles asked. 

“You’re going to ride me, or suck me off, or just use your hand or _something_. Please!” Derek was close to begging. It felt like he’d been here forever and an orgasm was being held beyond the reach of his restrained form. 

“No,” Stiles said. “We’re going to have a chat about autonomy.” 

“ _Now?!_ ” 

“Now.” Stiles kept his fingers moving lightly up and down on Derek’s cock, but with nowhere near enough pressure. 

“Because of how you proposed,” Stiles said, “in front of a room full of reporters, eager for their next story. After everything we’d been through, everything we were trying to show the world, you knew that I couldn’t give any answer but yes. I couldn’t have refused or even hesitated, without destroying everything we’d just fought to win.” 

“Did you want to refuse?” Derek asked, his blood suddenly running cold. The fear that Stiles might refuse him now, might call an end to everything, was enough to suddenly take an arousal from the situation. 

Stiles increased the speed of his fingers, just a little, just enough to bring Derek back closer to where he’d been. 

“Of course I didn’t want to refuse,” Stiles said, “but that’s not the point. The point is that you didn’t give me any choice about it. You picked that moment to make a statement so I had to go along with it, whatever I might have wanted. The timing of it, the way you asked, that wasn’t about _us_ , it was about the story, the message. Am I wrong?” 

Derek wished he could say he was. Shame was starting at the pit of his stomach, gradually filling him up. He could claim that he’d wanted the moment to be dramatic or romantic, but he’d know that was a lie. If he’d wanted romance, he’d have proposed when the two of them were alone. He’d made that choice for the statement and they both knew it. 

Stiles kept his fingers working, kept Derek’s body primed and ready, no matter what was going through his mind. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. 

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be. You used me to make a point. You took away my choice. You took away my freedom more in that moment than you ever did when I was officially your slave.” 

Derek hadn’t thought about it that way. He should have thought about it. This whole mess had started because werewolves thought they had the right to take away a human’s ability to choose and then Derek had gone and done the same thing. 

“Now I’m balancing the scales,” Stiles continued. “I’m going to take away your choice in something that matters to you.” His fingers worked faster, bringing Derek close to the edge. Then he stopped. Derek bit back a moan. 

“You don’t get to decide when you get to come,” Stiles said. His fingers moved again, too softly. 

Derek could end this right now, they both knew it. He could transform and snap the cuffs around his wrists and bring himself to the end he wanted, but he wasn’t going to. Because Stiles was right. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. 

“Are you just saying that because I’ve got my hands around your cock?” 

“No. I mean it. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about the fact I was taking away your choice. I’m sorry.” 

“And will you remember what happens when you don’t think?” 

“Yes. Yes! I promise!” 

Stiles closed his hand around Derek’s erection and pumped. 

“Then come for me,” Stiles said. Derek obeyed, sending streamers of come over his stomach. He lay back, panting from the sudden release, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Stiles was looking down at him, smiling. 

“Am I forgiven?” Derek asked. 

“Always.” The wicked grin came back. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you out of bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story for so long. I had no idea it was going to end up this epic when I started it. Seriously, I've written novels shorter than this fic! 
> 
> If you've left comments or kudos, thank you. If you haven't, there's still time. I've been watching the kudos count creep closer to 1000 over the last few chapters. We can get it over that line. Just hit that little kudos button. :) I don't always reply to individual comments but I want you to know that they are always appreciated. Every writer wants to know that their work is being read and enjoyed. 
> 
> I have got ideas for other fics, so you won't have to wait long for more Sterek goodness. In the meantime, if you like my writing, I have some published books you might want to take a look at. [My Amazon page](http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B004FR312S/?_encoding=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&linkCode=ur2&tag=chiofthehiv-21)


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